


Hunters' City

by EarthsPrelude



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Awkward Flirting, Eventual Smut, Family, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Monster Hunters, Plot, Psychological Torture, Romance, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 91,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28246461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthsPrelude/pseuds/EarthsPrelude
Summary: "Two souls don't find each other by simple accident."In a losing battle against angels, Dean Winchester needs to decide; whether to follow his heart, or watch his world fall apart.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 43
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

_"What a marvelous feeling it would be,_

_if we could say exactly how we felt._

_What monumental victory._

_What a terrifying thought."_

_\- Akif Kichloo_

* * *

Heaven was about to raise hell. 

The entire garrison of angels had gathered together at the round marble table that was used only once every few thousands of years. The entirety of heaven seemed to hold their breath, figuratively speaking of course, as the last angel to join sat down in his chair. 

“We cannot let them have their freedom,” the angel Uriel spoke from the table that seated his brothers and sisters. 

“My dear Uriel, that is the exact behavior we want to encourage.” Metatron, the angel that was sitting to his right, replied.

“I am afraid I do not follow, sir,” Uriel looked up at his superior. 

“Freedom," Metatron paused while he lifted his hands and let them flow mid-air in a big gesture. "Is what the humans _think_ they possess, and it is our job to help them believe this is true. For example; when a hairless ape chooses between left or right, we let them think either results in a different outcome, when in fact, we know that everything is already set in stone.”

A sly grin appeared on Uriel’s face while he nodded in agreement. His superior Metatron was a wise angel, he was right to say that it was time to take action against those pitiful ants. Ever since their father (God) had disappeared, things had been a colossal mess down on earth. The humans had proclaimed the planet as theirs, it was truly a despicable thing to witness. They started their own wars, started to chip away at the planet, and worst of all, they lost their respect for God. All of heaven had been waiting for their father, God himself, to return. Years had gone by but none of the angels had ever come across a sign. Eventually, the four elders stepped up and began to rule in their father's name. It was the only plausible solution at the time but they lacked a certain quality. They were too busy trying to please their father, too busy to see that their control over earth was slowly slipping out of their very own hands. 

“But how will we make the humans listen again?” An angel called Hannah asked from the other end of the large, white marble table. She was the first to speak after Metatron had called Uriel to gather the garrison.

Metatron turned to her, his head tilted slightly and an eerie smile spread across his face. “We play,” he paused again, causing a stir of confusion amongst the other angels at the table. 

“They want us to acknowledge their pain; the apes think that we exist to fulfill their needs, make their miserable little lives meaningful. So we play the part and they will trust us like the blind-” 

“You want us to lie?” Hannah interrupted Metatron, she spoke a little louder this time. 

“No, no, not lie.” The sly grin that he wore so well spread across Metatron's face again. “We grant them those little favors, earn their trust and we show them the way. See, there is no lie.” 

“So you're suggesting we become their slaves?” an angel by the name of Gadreel asked, disgust clearly visible on his face. More angels at the table began to express their discontentment mutually. 

“I’m not saying it is all going to be a delight served on a silver platter,” Metatron replied with a nearly childish tone, he didn't appear phased by their comments at all. “I’m saying that we should earn their trust before we can successfully apply our new rules…”

The room was silent, some angels nodded in agreement while others seemed displeased with this new idea. 

“With our brother, archangel Michael, locked away downstairs, someone will have to step up while the others look for him,” Uriel spoke, encouraging those who were still reflecting on Metatron’s words.

“And that someone should be you?” Another angel had appeared out of thin air, just a few steps from Metatron's seat. 

Everyone looked up in surprise at his arrival, everyone except Metatron. 

“Ah, Gabriel. How nice of you to join us,” said Metatron as if he meant every word.

“So you’re planning on taking over daddy’s job then?” Gabriel said, mockery thick in his voice. 

“Well if you insist on putting it like that… yes,” Metatron replied calmly. 

“And obviously you know what I think, right?” Gabriel stepped closer to Metatron with every word.

“You think I’m making a big mistake,” Metatron said without blinking.

“I think you’re in over your head,” Gabriel said, closing the distance between him and Metatron’s seat. "Though I admit, up close it's quite a big head." 

There was a tense silence around the table.

“Now come on Gabriel, do you really want to do this here?" Metatron smiled, but his eyes were deadly. "Why not come over to my office later so we can discuss this privately?”

“No thanks, you're not really my type.” Gabriel was known to be immature, and almost none of the angels appreciated this quality. 

Metatron's face turned into a wide smile and slowly an eerie laugh started to fill the room. No one said anything, not even Gabriel. 

“My dear Gabriel, if there was even the smallest chance that you could take over his job I would bow down to you at this very moment. But let’s be honest here, you can’t even take care of your brothers without sending them to hell.”

There was a small gasp coming from the table, but it went unnoticed. Gabriel’s own smile faded and his expression became ardent. 

“You'll see,” he hissed at Metatron before he disappeared again.

“Wonderful,” Metatron replied as his smile grew even wider.

* * *

The news had spread faster than wildfire. The hunters had caught one today, still alive even. And not only had they caught one of their most vicious enemies, but it also happened to be their leader; the archangel Michael. When they had brought the angel in, everyone at Hunters' City’s basecamp was exhilarated. This was a victory. Sure, it was true that no one knew how many of the angels went rogue, but now they had their hands on their enemy's powerful leader. Things were finally starting to look up for the people in Hunters' City. 

The archangel was locked away in their highest security cell, with hunters stationed on guard duty at every door and window.

Their victory was celebrated by the every hunter, who came together at Harvelle’s Roadhouse. The Roadhouse was a crowded bar, full of smoke and dimmed lighting but to most hunters, it was like home. And while most of the hunters were celebrating, a disagreement took place at the same time. 

“We just executed the spell and it worked like a charm. The archangel didn’t know what hit him.” Commander Barnes barked out, followed by laughter which was joined in by the others.

“The suckers didn’t expect us to have some kick,” Rufus shouted while lifting his beer bottle up in the air. 

“This will teach ‘em not to mess with us again!” another hunter cheered. 

“Idjits,” A gruff voice interrupted the victory cheers. Everyone in the room turned around to find whom it belonged; a scruffy man with a beard and a worn-out baseball cap. 

“There something you wanna share, Singer?” Commander Barnes said, agitation clear in his voice. 

“Bobby, don't…” Rufus turned to warn his friend. 

“Y’all think some strange guy who appeared out of nowhere just happens to have all the right answers to our problems and don’t want nothing in return?” Bobby’s skepticism was met with both protest and agreement from the crowd of hunters. 

“Sometimes you don't need to look a gift horse in the mouth, he probably wanted those suckers gone just as much as we do.” A hunter named Carl cut in.

“We know nothing about this damn guy, no one has ever even seen him around here. For all we know he could be working with those bastards." Bobby objected. 

“Singer, that's enough!” Barnes yelled. 

“This is bull, don't say I never warned y'all,” Bobby grunted under his breath. 

“I said that's enough!” Commander Barnes slammed his fist on the wooden bar.

“We do not want to cause a scene brother, not today.” Rufus had made his way next to Bobby and put his hand on the angry man’s shoulder. 

“Fine,” and with that Bobby turned and walked out of the bar, leaving a mumbling crowd behind him.

At the back of the bar, someone was taking note of all the commotion. His shoulder was leaning casually against the wall. He watched as an angry Bobby Singer stormed through the crowd and out of the door. But he didn't join in with the gossiping crowd as the door fell closed again. No, he thoughtfully sipped his beer while his mind wandered off to an old memory. A memory of something that happened nearly 15 years ago. 

_“Ya know ya shouldn’t be eavesdropping, boy.” A hand landed on Dean Winchester's shoulder, startling him. There was no point in lying, so he didn't._

_“But I could fight with them, uncle Bobby,” Dean argued._

_"The field is no place for a young boy, Dean."_

_"I'm not that young," Dean protested as his arms folded over each other._

_"We'll have this talk again when you can at least grow some facial hair," Bobby laughed._

_"It's not fair. Dad was only twelve when he went on his first mission. Why can't I go?" Dean said, ignoring Bobby's comment._

_"Because those were different times and the city was under attack while there was a lack of hunters. But like I told ya, I'm done having this conversation."_

_"You suck, you’re just like all the other grown-ups," Dean said._

_"Well boohoo, what are you going to do about it?" Bobby said before walking away._

_Dean had tried to explain it so many times, but neither his uncle nor his dad would listen to him. They would tell him that the hunters' army was no place for an eleven-year-old boy. However, Dean knew the risks, he was mature for his age and he knew he would be able to handle it. He always showed up to his training on the weekends, he even practiced until late in the evenings, and when everyone at school was reading about history, Dean was trying to memorize every single weapon in the hunters' arsenal. His favorite weapon was the Colt M1877, he had even gotten to fire it once. He had sneaked out and practiced for over an hour. Obviously once his dad figured out what was happening, he got so furious that he sent Dean away to live with aunt Ellen for over 2 weeks._

_There was nothing wrong with aunt Ellen or his cousin Jo, but they were just so suffocating sometimes. This was probably why his younger brother Sam, or Sammy as Dean and his dad called him (much to Sam’s dislike), loved spending time with them. They would read all day long and talk about folklore and the history of the world. Sometimes, however, Jo would sneak off with Dean to shoot empty jars and bottles with their homemade slingshots and it was the only time they got away from all the chores Ellen would make them do._

The memory faded as a hand tapped on Dean's left shoulder. It was his aunt, Ellen, telling him to help her out at the bar. He knew she was doing this to distract him from what had just happened, he also knew that there wasn’t a chance in hell he could refuse her order. So he walked over to the bar, cursing under his breath until he received a death glare from Ellen. Dean quickly occupied himself with pouring beers for his fellow hunters. 

Aunt Ellen and his uncle Bobby weren’t actually his real family. It was just common for hunters to have little to no family members so most of them stuck together within the walls of the city. Hunters refer to close friends as family, or as Bobby often put it; “Family don’t end with blood.” Though whenever Dean asked about the meaning behind that, Bobby would usually hurry to change the subject or brush it off. Of course, not everyone inside the wall got along nicely so they were divided into families about the same size as families outside the walls would be.

The hunters' community hadn’t always been around either. Before the first attack hunters lived scattered all around the country, most of them even preferred to hunt alone. But when the world fell was under attack from the worst enemy they could have ever imagined, there was a drastic need for change. An old city was rebuilt to live up to the hunters' necessities and basic needs. In the middle of the city, they stationed the base camp, with enough to foresee about a thousand hunters. The basecamp consisted of an armory, a makeshift hospital, a training center for hunters, food storage, bunkers, and the biggest building; the command center, which also held their prison.

Within the outskirts, a school was built, just as a library, supermarket, gas station, and even a few shops. And what would Hunters' city be without its bars and cafes? Dean Winchester had mostly been to one, in particular, The Roadhouse, a bar owned by his aunt Ellen. The weekends Dean got to spend at the bar were always his favorite. Hunters from all over the city would come together and get drunk, which in itself wasn’t very charming or interesting, but Dean had come to the conclusion that drunk hunters seemed to forget they couldn’t talk about their hunting trips in front of children. He would listen to them talk for hours, usually until Ellen would scold him for eavesdropping and send him to bed. 

Dean had joined the hunters' army at the age of 17 due to his poor grades at school, but great devotion when it came to training. It wasn't that Dean was stupid, not at all in fact, he just lacked great motivation when it came to studying from a book. He impressed his dad by going on his first solo hunt when he was still 17 and by his 19th birthday, he defeated his first werewolf on a hunting job outside the city. And right after his 21st birthday, he was sent on an important mission to capture and interrogate a demon. 

Sam, on the other hand, was quite the opposite of his older brother. He got outstanding grades in school, and while his training skills weren’t bad, they couldn’t compare to his brother’s. Though that could be explained by the differences in their personalities. Dean had always been more of a take action first kind of guy, while Sam always made sure to estimate the situation they were in and act with more caution. 

All the hunters older than 18 could join training five days a week. And when they weren’t in dangerous circumstances, everyone got to go home during the weekend. People who didn’t fit the age category, or weren’t capable of fighting lived in the outer circle. Because of the city’s size, the outer circle was divided into zones; Alpha, Beta, Charlie, Delta, and Echo. Each zone held a watchtower which were all connected by a tall, wooden barrier wall. Unknown to most, an intentional pattern, existing out of pure iron, ran from all five towers across each other, forming a giant pentagram. While this sounds like a nice little touch of decoration, it actually served a purpose. Because what most outsiders didn’t know was that the real meaning behind their city’s name; Hunters' City, was exactly what it sounds like, a city full of hunters. But the hunters didn’t chase after deer, they were not after animals at all for that matter. They protected the people from the real evil out in the world. The evil that some people might speak of as the boogeyman in children’s books. Apart from the fact that these monsters didn’t (normally) live in other people’s closets, most of them did actually roam the earth freely. Demons, werewolves, vampires, skinwalkers, wendigo’s, witches, and well, the list goes on. Though that was nothing compared to their current enemy. The enemy that no one could have foreseen. An enemy that history had spoken of greatly in holy books, and humans had built places for to worship their power. And while their existence had been contemplated, their loyalty had never been questioned before. 

The first encounter between hunters and angels went by quite amicably, if you will. They discovered common ground in their shared enemies and were able to strike a deal to tolerate each other's existences. It wasn't until years later that the hunters learned of the angel's plans to attack the city and burn it to the ground. Though it was supposedly only a part of the angels that felt this way, it left the hunters with an unnerving need for more precautions and safety. 

One month passed without much news from outside the walls and there was no progress in extracting information from Michael. Dean remembered learning about the angel Micheal in school. He was one of the four archangels and the leader of all other angels, he was said to be one of the most powerful. 

So a whole month had passed since they locked Michael away in the angel-proofed prison. “How exactly do you capture an archangel?” had been Sam’s first question, followed by Dean’s question “Where exactly do we keep him?” Sadly none of the hunters they had spoken with had been on the mission that night, none except... their dad. But the chances of Dean capturing an angel all by himself were bigger than getting John Winchester to talk about his missions. Not that he even got much of a chance to ask because their dad was always at the command center. 

When they were younger Sam and Dean used to live with their uncle Bobby during the week. He was an older grumpy man who always seemed to smell of alcohol and rarely took off his worn-out baseball cap. However they had grown fond of Bobby because underneath all the snappy remarks and his scruffy beard, he had a big heart. Bobby cared for them as if they were his own sons. Dean often heard Bobby and his dad fighting; usually about them. According to Bobby their dad was too (damn) obsessed with hunting and didn’t spend enough time with his children. 

Dean Winchester didn’t really resent his father for the time he spent hunting. After all, he got to spend some time with his dad while he taught him about hunting. And whenever his dad wasn’t around, he would practice on his own or take care of his younger brother. Sometimes he felt bad for Sam, as he didn’t like hunting the way Dean did, and therefore he didn’t get to spend as much time with their dad. But Sam had their aunt Ellen, who was always there for them. Their mother had tragically passed away when Dean was only four years old. She was supposedly killed in a demon hunting accident, but their father never talked about it. When Sam got a little older he started asking all these questions about their mother that Dean never really knew how to answer. He told him what she looked liked and how she used to sing them to sleep, but truth was, he didn't remember much more about her either.

On the weekends they would be at home with their dad but even then Dean and John would have training from 9 am till 3 pm leaving Sam at home alone. Sam didn’t start hunters training at the same time as Dean, as he was four years younger than him. Dean had always felt guilty about leaving Sam at home, but Sam had always told him he didn’t mind as long as Dean promised that they would watch tv together when he’d get back.

Hunters' training was held in the Echo zone, in an old modified gym. A big field of plain grass next to it was used for the outside training. Boys aged twelve to eighteen were all asked to participate from 9 am to 3 pm during the week. It meant studying all urban legends around angels and attending classes like ‘weaponry’ and ‘first aid’. But the most boring class, at least according to Dean, was ‘angel warding’. They were taught how to protect their homes with weird scribbles, and how to draw sigils that could send angels to another part of the world or even back to heaven. 

Indoor classes were scheduled until 12 pm. That's when they would move on to Dean’s favorite part: the actual training. Even though stealth training was quite lame, fighting and gun shooting made up for that. They also learned how to load a gun, take it apart, and put it back together again. 

When Dean would get home his dad usually left the house within an hour, to meet other hunters at the bar. Leaving Dean to take care of his brother, which meant making dinner, watching TV together, and tucking him in at night. After that Dean would wait up for his dad who often got home around midnight. 

Hunters in the city were mostly men, with a few exceptions. Female hunters weren’t necessarily unheard of, it was just less common. Much to Ellen’s dislike, Jo always talked about joining the hunters' army. After Dean had shared the local bar stories with her, she slowly started to get into hunting as well. Which ended up getting Dean into a lot of trouble with Ellen, who was practically stating Jo couldn’t become a hunter even if it came down to hunting a rabid dog. 

* * *

Dean got home late that night from the bar. He had finally pried himself away from Ellen's burning stare with an excuse that he needed to check up on Sam, who was probably at home by himself right now. Dean knew perfectly well that Sam was safe and asleep by the time he got home. But he couldn't stand to listen to any more comments from hunters complaining about Bobby. They would talk about how he was becoming a delusional old man and that someone of his age should probably retire from being a hunter. But Dean couldn't disagree with them more, besides his dad, Bobby was one of the most skilled hunters Dean had ever seen. 

That night another memory crept up in Dean's dreams without warning. It wasn't the first time that this particular memory made it into his dreams. Ever since it happened ten years ago. But he had never told anyone, he was afraid of how they might look at him when he would tell them something so unbelievable, that if it wasn't for the small scar, he himself would have thought it never actually happened. 

_The cold had frozen the ground, so most of the hunters' training was held inside. On days where they had weapon training, Dean always called home to let his little brother know he would be home late. There were no rules against practicing after training, so that was exactly what he would do._

_After working on his aim he trained his stamina out on the frozen field. With icy toes and fingers, he left the field after 2 hours of practice. Dean didn't like the thought of being out of shape so it was worth his free time._

_Since the bus provided by the training center had already left, he had to walk 25 minutes to Charlie's bus station. He tucked his chin into his coat and buried his hands deep into his pockets. Luckily his body was still warm from the physical exercise, but it wasn't long until the December cold got to him. With chattering teeth, he followed the asphalt road leading to Charlie, lit by the yellow street lanterns. As he came closer he could see the enormous, lit-up watchtower of zone C._

_Dean looked down at his watch, an old one of Bobby's he had gotten for his 12th birthday. The brown leather strap was clearly worn and the clock itself was missing the second-hand thingy, but Dean loved it nonetheless. It was 5:20, if he hurried up he would be able to make the hourly bus of 5:30. He tried to shrug off the cold as he got both hands out of his pockets. His stamina was good enough for him to make the distance in time if he jogged there._

_He couldn’t have been running for more than five minutes when something startled him. A bright light appeared out of nowhere. He turned his head to look towards the bright light source. But the roads were covered in a thick layer of December frost, and in the process, Dean lost his footing. One foot slipped in front of the other and before he knew it he was nearing the concrete fast. He stretched out his arms as a reflex, but because he had lost his balance his entire weight shifted onto his right hand. A loud, sickening crack filled the air. His wrist had collapsed under his weight and with nothing to hold him up his head hit the concrete. Sharp flashes of pain filled his forehead. Dean lay on the ground, he was vaguely aware of the warm liquid that had started streaming down his forehead. However, he was focused on the possible danger that was in front of him. The bright light was becoming extremely painful to look at, but for some reason it had Dean mesmerized. If he would have been able to feel any emotion underneath all of the adrenaline, he would have felt surprised. Because when the light faded a tall figure was standing in its exact place. Part of him wanted to shout and call for help, but it was as if sound didn’t exist around them. It was dead quiet, not even a single owl hoot or distant car engine. It felt oddly suffocating. Dean let out a small gasp of air, the vibration of his breath made his head throb even worse._

_The figure was slowly moving closer to him until it stood right in front of him. Dean's heart was nearly beating out of his chest and complete silence had never felt more intimidating. Dean couldn’t be sure but it looked as if the figure was tilting its head ever so slightly. After what felt like the longest minutes of Dean's life, the figure knelt down next to him. It lifted its human-like hand just as slowly, as if it was afraid that its movements would cause Dean to run away. And while Dean had never been afraid of much in his life, he wouldn't disagree with the thought. The hand hesitantly reached closer to him. The throbbing in Dean's head was making it hard for him to concentrate on the figure, but it seemed as if it was reaching for Dean’s head. Strangely enough, the figure resembled a human just as much as a blurry figure could. Dean screwed his eyes shut and braced himself for whatever was about to come. The moment Dean felt its hand connect with his forehead, a warm, glowing feeling spread through his body just before every sense shut off._

Dean had woken up safe and sound in his bed that night. He had healed completely from his fall, and it would have looked as if it had never happened if it wasn’t for the small white scar that marked his right eyebrow. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter is here :) I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter. The story is just getting started so bear with me as I set it up as best as I can.  
> Let me know what you think of this chapter, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Gracy's diner was definitely one of Dean's favorite places to enjoy a good burger. Dean licked his lips at the sight in front of him; a beer, bacon cheeseburger, and a slice of apple pie. The cute waitress he just chatted up was about to finish her shift. He grinned, life was good.

He heard a faint knock followed by a familiar voice, “boys!” _Damnit Bobby not now,_ Dean thought. He turned back to the cute waitress only to find that she had disappeared. What the- 

Another knock. Dean glanced at the entrance of the diner, confused as hell. Why didn’t Bobby just come in? 

Then the walls of the diner slowly started to fade. The lively colors turned into a dreary gray and before he knew it, Dean was standing in a long dark hallway. Without hesitation he reached for his gun, looking around for any signs of danger.

He slowly made his way down the hallway when suddenly a door appeared out of nowhere. A strange sound was coming from behind it. The closer Dean got to the door, the louder it became, he finally recognized it as a low growling sound, like an angry dog.

He opened the door to absolute darkness, it was as if a black hole had sucked up the entire room. Glaring with confusion he took another step towards nothing, the ground started to falter beneath him. Dean realized he was standing at the edge of nothing, and then he fell.

Dean jerked upward, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. 

It took him a second to notice that Sam was standing in his doorway, his expression somewhat amused. 

“Good to know you’re finally awake,” Sam said.

“Shut up,” Dean said while wiping some drool away from the corner of his mouth. 

“Nice,” Sam commented dryly. “Bobby’s here, said he wants to talk to us about a job.” 

“Yeah, I’ll be down in five,” Dean said. He kicked his legs out from under the covers and tried to shake the anxious feeling in his stomach. It was just a bad fucking dream, that was all. No need to go soul searching and find a deeper meaning behind it all, something Sam would likely suggest. 

_“Yeah, he’ll be thrilled,”_ he heard his younger brother tell Bobby. 

Dean got dressed and made his way downstairs. He could hear Sam and Bobby talking from the kitchen, the smell of coffee filled his nose. 

“But that’s only two hours from here,” Sam said as he walked into the kitchen.

“What is?” Dean asked, his voice still raspy from sleep.

“An old buddy of mine called, said there were some strange things happening near his garage in Pittsburg.”

“Strange as in my husband got abducted by aliens and now he’s pregnant strange, or where is the rash in my underwear coming from, strange?” Dean asked while shoving a piece of toast he found on the counter in his mouth. Sam watched him judgingly. 

“Try strange as in mangled bodies with their hearts ripped out of their chest,” Bobby said. 

“But why are they this close to the city? There haven’t been calls this close in years.” Sam asked while throwing away half of the donut that Dean had been eyeing. 

“No clue,” Bobby said thoughtfully. “But I bet it ain’t good.” 

* * *

Dean walked down to his car, he heard Sam close the front door behind him. They were headed to the garage in Pittsburg where Bobby’s friend reported the case. 

“You heard him, he said their hearts were missing. You thinking of a pack?” Sam asked.

“Well, it sure as hell fits the description of our little Wolfman and co,” Dean said while reaching for his car keys in his pocket.

“We’d better ask around for any witnesses when we get there.” Sam tucked his pistol into the back of his belt. 

“Blade? Silver bullets?” Dean checked off his list of suitable weaponry for the job.

“Dean, I know how to kill a werewolf. I’ve had the exact same training as you, in case you forgot.” 

“One can never be too careful, Sammy,” Dean said.

“Yeah, like you’re ever careful.” Sam rolled his eyes. 

“I’m the older brother, it’s not my job to be careful,” Dean said half-serious. 

“Sam! Dean! Wait up,” a familiar voice called. Dean sighed, he had hoped to avoid this today. 

“Hey Jo,” Sam smiled kindly, but he too knew what was about to come.

“You guys going hunting right now?” Jo asked. Her blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail and a shotgun hung from a strap on her shoulder. 

“Yes, and we were actually leaving right now,” Dean said.

“Well that’s convenient, I just took the rest of the day off. I can-”

“We’re not doing this again, Jo,” Dean said while placing his old, green duffle bag in the back of the Impala. 

“Come on, it’s only a couple of werewolves. Nothing I don’t know how to kill.” Jo said.

“So we’re eavesdropping now huh,” Dean said.

“You know your mom wouldn’t be happy if we let you come with us.” Sam joined in.

“Yeah, she would murder us,” Dean put emphasis on the word murder.

“So what, you hunt monsters every day and you’re scared of my mom?” 

“Yes,” Sam and Dean said in unison. Truth was that Ellen would probably do a lot worse than murder them if they would let Jo tag along on a hunt. And that’s if Jo came back in one piece. A shiver crept up on Dean’s spine at the thought of telling their aunt Ellen Jo hadn’t made it back. 

Jo rolled her eyes. “This is insane, you guys can’t keep treating me like a kid.” 

“Then stop acting like one,” Dean said. 

“Look, maybe if you ask your mom beforehand next time you can join us on a routine mission,” Sam said apologetically. Dean wanted to kick him in the leg. 

“Yes, now please let the grown-ups get to work.” 

Jo huffed. “I’m only one year younger than Sam,” 

“Bye, Jo,” Dean said sarcastically. He turned back to his car, a black ‘67 Chevy Impala that had been passed down by his father when Dean turned 23. 

He and Sam climbed into the Impala before Jo could come up with another reason to tag along. Dean hit the accelerator and turned on the radio while driving them down the familiar road out of the city. The Impala sped past the first of birches that were starting to change into a colorful field against the dark green pines. 

They were about an hour into their drive when Sam turned to his brother who was singing (some would call it screaming) along to All Nightmare Long.

“I kinda feel bad for her,” Sam said over the loud Metallica song. 

“Who? Jo?” Dean looked over at his brother as he turned down the volume. “You know she’s safer inside the walls.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think she deserves a chance? She’s a good hunter you know” 

“Look just because someone can kick your ass in training doesn’t mean she would do better out doing the real thing.” 

“I mean it, Dean.” 

“Listen I’ll happily trade you for someone better looking and less annoying, but even if I would take her along you know that Ellen will kill me.”

“You’re gross,” Sam shook his head.

* * *

“I’d say this is it,” Dean said as they pulled up. 

He parked the impala across the road from the garage.

“Let’s go,” Sam said. 

The garage wasn’t much more than two petrol pumps and a small workshop. Sam and Dean walked past the petrol pumps and an old Suzuki that looked like it had been there for years. 

Dean tried the sliding door but it didn’t budge.

“Lights are off too,” Sam commented. “Maybe they’re closed?” 

Dean put his hand against the window and peered inside. There clearly hadn’t been anyone at this particular garage in ages. Nearly every single shelf was empty covered in dust, with the exception of a few shelves that carried mechanics tools and spare tires. The place looked overall grubby, and empty beer cans and torn up magazines littered the floor. 

“I don’t think anyone has been here for years, not anyone alive at least,” Dean said. 

“Then why send us here?” Sam’s brow furrowed. 

“Because they probably don’t want a couple of scruffy-looking guys snooping around?”

“Who are you calling scruffy?” 

“Well for one, you could have combed your hair this morning,” Dean grinned knowing he had hit a nerve with his younger brother. 

“That’s very funny coming from someone who looks like they just walked out of a lumberjack’s weekly magazine.” 

Dean opened his mouth to object but decided to roll with it instead. 

Dean shrugged. “Just, you do your thing and I’ll look around town some more.” 

“My _thing_?” Sam asked sarcastically.

“Yeah, the whole internet research thing that you’re so fond of.” 

“I’m not fond of wasting hours behind my laptop doing boring research, Dean. You just refuse to do it.”

“Exactly.” Dean smiled. “We’ll catch up in a few hours.” 

“Whatever,” Sam shook his head.

“You take the car,” Dean handed Sam the keys. “But not a scratch on baby, or-”

“Yes I’m dead, I know.” 

Dean could practically feel his younger brother roll his eyes as he turned towards the car. 

* * *

Though it was quiet in Pittsburg there was a sense of restlessness that Dean couldn’t quite place. Why would Bobby’s friend ask them to come all this way, if he was gonna skip town himself?

Dean had just finished talking to a woman called Rebecca, who had claimed to have seen weird footprints on her lawn. However, they turned out to be pawprints from the neighbor's German Shepherd. Dean sighed, at this rate he wouldn’t catch these suckers before the next full moon.

He was just about to dial Sam’s number when he heard a rustling sound behind him. Dean reached for his gun as he turned around. 

He didn’t see anyone, but he could sense that he wasn’t alone. 

“This is no time for playing hide and seek, I’ve got better things to do,” Dean called out.

There was another rustling sound, this time coming from his left. He turned around to find himself standing face to face with werewolves. 

There were three of them, they looked at him with wolflike grins and Dean felt adrenaline rush through his veins. Where had they come from and worse, how did they know he was here? But these questions didn’t matter right now, because now would be the time to fight for his life. He tightened the grip on his gun.

“Great, Alfie the werewolf. Just the douchebag I wanted to run into today.”

“Where is the other one?” The largest of the pack spoke. 

“What? Am I not enough for you? To tell you the truth I’m the handsome one,” Dean said without breaking eye contact. 

“Funny,” he spoke again. “But we’re not here to play games, we’re here on orders.” 

“What orders?” Dean was trying to think of a way to get himself out of this one. But he knew there was no negotiating with a pack of werewolves, there were only two ways this was going to end; either with some taxidermy jobs or a one way trip to the morgue. 

“Sorry,” the werewolf didn’t sound sorry in the slightest. “Can’t tell you that.”

“Well, I don’t feel like getting eaten alive tonight, sorry to disappoint.” 

"You should have thought about that before coming here. I got a family to feed, sorry to disappoint." the leader responded mockingly. Before Dean could reply, the werewolf started snarling and growling. 

“Well good thing we are just after your heart,” As if other werewolves had been waiting on a signal, more of them appeared out of the shadows. There was at least a pack of nine werewolves closing in on him right now. 

“I’ve been told I don’t have one,” Dead said calmly but his heart was beating fast.

 _Fuck, this was gonna be bad._ Time seemed to stand still for a moment but then a hot pain ran through his entire right leg, causing him to fall to the ground. Claws were tearing away at his arms and chest and the smell of blood filled the air. He tried to grab his gun but it was no longer within his reach. There was the sound of low growling and Dean faintly recognized it from somewhere.

Then darkness swallowed him whole. 

* * *

“If you could stop injuring yourself-“ 

A sharp flash of sudden, shocking pain shot through Dean’s shin and upper thigh. It felt as if someone or something was tearing his right leg apart. He tried to scream but nothing came out, it was as if his body wasn’t his to control anymore. There was a radiant flash of light and then a strange pressure on his stomach. Slowly a warm feeling started spreading through his entire body like melting honey. 

Something inside of him was telling him to wake the hell up. That there was definitely something wrong here, but Dean couldn’t reason with the warmth that was now relaxing his entire body and it didn’t take long before he dozed off.

“What the-” Dean blinked rapidly, trying to figure out where he was. It took him a few seconds before his head stopped spinning and colorful spots stopped messing with his vision. He noticed his leg was throbbing like hell, he tried to move it, but to his surprise, he couldn’t. “What the-” he repeated. 

Dean tried to sit up but winced as his leg warned him not to. Hot flashes of pain filled his memory and he had to try hard not to pass out again. He moved again, slower this time, trying to position himself a little more upright, and after a few hisses of pain and several whispered curses, he was able to do so. 

Suddenly he remembered hearing the other voice in the room, he looked around to find someone that it could belong to, but there was no one there. 

“Hello?” He called out, feeling like a real dumbass for even trying. “Sammy?” 

He noticed that everything around him was made out of wood. The walls, the ceiling, and even the table he was laying on. He recognized the place immediately, it was one of the old outpost cabins just outside of the walls. What he didn’t understand, however, was how he got here. He didn’t remember taking shelter here nor did he remember laying down. Slowly he looked down at his leg to inspect the severity of his injury. 

Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. His jeans were covered in claw marks and blood, his own blood most likely. Though that wasn’t the part that surprised him, with the severe pain he was in just seconds ago Dean expected to see a lot more than dried up blood and torn clothes. But there were only scratches on his legs, well scratches and an inexplicably large and nearly healed wound that he had never seen before. It was as if the werewolf had attacked his legs several days ago instead of hours. 

The flash of light he saw earlier, could it be? His eyes scanned the room again but there were no signs of anyone else in the room. Dean was completely alone, left with yet another magically healed wound and another chunk of his memory missing. 

He realized that his cell phone was loudly buzzing in his back pocket. He pulled it out and relief washed over him as he saw the called ID. 

_“Dean!”_ Sam’s worried voice came from the speaker. _“Where are you? We’ve been trying to reach you for hours now. Bobby is out looking for you. We thought something had happened while you were hunting, did you go out and hunt the werewolf yourself because-”_

“Wow, slow down Sammy.” Dean’s voice resembled a poor attempt to sound fine.

 _“Where are you? I’ll send Bobby to come and pick you up.”_ Sam urged.

“The old outpost cabins, just outside the walls.”

_“Don’t do anything stupid, just wait for Bobby. I’m calling him now.”_

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine.” Dean put away his cell phone after he heard the familiar click that indicated the call had ended. 

He tried to push himself off the table, but his legs felt as if they had been replaced by jello. Bobby would be here soon and he had to pull himself together. He couldn’t have Bobby worrying over him too. He staggered, nearly tripping over his duffle bag. _How did that thing even get here?_ When he finally managed to stand upright it took all his strength to evenly distribute the weight on both legs. 

It didn’t take Bobby long to find him. Dean was waiting in the door opening when he saw Bobby’s car pull up. He threw the duffle bag over his shoulder and slowly made his way to the car, trying to hide his limp. 

“What the hell?” Bobby didn’t bother hiding his concern as soon as Dean managed to sit down in the passenger’s seat.

“I got ambushed,” Dean said, feeling partially guilty. 

“You know better than to go in by yourself,” 

“I didn’t mean to, I ran into the suckers on the way back.” 

“Do you have any idea how lucky you are to be alive and kicking right now?”

“I guess,” Dean admitted sheepishly. The truth was that they didn’t know how lucky he truly had been. The last he remembered was a pack of werewolves chomping down on him like a goddamn happy meal. There was no way they decided to take pity on him and backed down. 

Bobby seemed to mutter something under his breath and Dean was partially grateful that he didn’t catch the exact words. 

They spent the rest of the drive in silence. 

Dean rested his head against the window, it was nice and cool against his head, which was still spinning. After a while he could see the familiar dark walls growing taller in the distance and the knot in Dean’s stomach tightened. They were nearly back home which meant that he had to explain everything that had happened. He strongly hoped his dad would not be waiting there for him. 

They pulled up onto the dirt road in front of their cabin. Dean could feel Bobby’s eyes watching him as if he could burst out into flames any minute. It made him nervous but he kept his mouth shut as they walked up to the front door. 

A small wave of relief washed over him when he didn’t spot his dad’s Jeep. 

Sam was waiting on him by the door, his face carried the exact expression Dean had pictured through the phone. Sam hugged him carefully before sitting him down on the couch while Dean tried his hardest not to wince. 

It didn’t take long for Sam to speak. “So what happened out there?” 

Dean sighed. “Well, one minute I was walking by myself, and then next thing I know I was playing tag with a bunch of bloodthirsty dogs.”

“So you were caught in the crossfire?” Bobby asked. 

“Yes,”

“How did you get out?” Sam asked. 

“I’m telling you I don’t know,” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “I was puppy chowder and then suddenly I woke up in the old outpost place.”

“Then how did you end up there?” Bobby asked.

“But that's miles away from Pittsburg,” Sam said simultaneously.

They both eyed him him disbelief. 

“I have no idea,” Dean said. And his brother and uncle seemed to share the exact same worried expression.

Without warning the front door swung open, revealing John Winchester. His face was turned into a grimace, but Dean could see the anger in his eyes.

“John,” Bobby moved to stand in between father and son. 

“Watch it,” John’s tone was cold but Bobby didn’t move an inch. 

Dean felt the blood drain from his face. Next to him, Sam sat up a little straighter on the couch, they both knew what was about to come. 

John turned to look directly at Dean, there was no worry in his expression; just anger and determination. Dean supposed he’d know this was coming but a part of him had hoped it wouldn’t. 

“I’ve raised you better than to be this careless,” John spat.

“Your son was ambushed and barely made it out alive, you should try showing some concern.” Bobby’s voice was more of a low growl. 

“It’s okay, Bobby.” Dean tried to stand up from the couch. He didn’t want anyone undergoing his father’s temper while he was the one who deserved it. 

“What if they had come after your brother instead. You know better than to split up.”

Dean flinched. “I’m sorry, sir. I would not have let Sam go back by himself.” 

“Damn right you wouldn’t have,” 

From the corner of his eye, Dean could see that his younger brother was eager to jump in and defend him. Sam wasn’t nearly as obedient as Dean when it came to their father, which had been the cause of many heated arguments between him and John. Dean shot him a warning look, he didn’t want any more fighting tonight than necessary. 

“But they did come after me, though.” Dean had to grip the edge of the couch to keep himself steady. “And I made it out.” 

“Yes, how exactly did you manage to fight off an entire pack of werewolves?” 

Bobby looked at him with a warning in his eyes that said _don’t._

“I got lucky I guess,” Dean said.

“Well, luck doesn’t get you far in this world, son. I can tell you that for free.”

* * *

Dean took a long drink from his beer while rain fell softly onto the porch roof. October’s chill was making him grateful for the alcohol in his system. Sam had repeatedly asked him to come inside. But despite the living room being warm because of the lit fireplace, Dean preferred the crisp outside breeze. Every now and then he caught a whiff of pines mixed with rain which weirdly enough always calmed him.

Being inside made him feel stuck and uneasy. Even though his father had left pretty quickly after their argument he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t wanted inside. 

The wound on his leg was throbbing painfully, but Dean’s mind was elsewhere. All this time he had wondered if the memory of his fall was just something his imagination came up with. That if he would have told his dad, John would have said Dean was just asking for attention. Of course, he never told his father, because he was afraid that he would accuse Dean of lying or maybe even worse, of not killing whatever was there with him that night. But this time there was no hiding his luck. Sooner or later his dad would find out that Dean didn’t kill any of the werewolves that had attacked him tonight. At that moment he didn’t know what he feared most, whatever the hell had saved him twice or his dad. 

* * *

_artwork by: syedafarrwa_


	3. Chapter 3

The past week Dean had spent trying to obey his father’s every order, much to Sam’s disapproval. Most of his free time was spent at Bobby’s, who insisted they tried to figure whatever the hell had happened that night. Dean’s leg was still giving him hell, but it was slowly starting to get better. 

At the command center, every high rank hunter had been extremely busy with getting more information out of their prisoner. So far Michael had been indifferent to all attempts of the hunters trying to extract information. That’s why, three months after his capture, the angel was still locked away in the city’s highest security cell, or in hunters' terms; the box. 

Dean had no clue as to what the higher-ranked hunters had planned to do with Michael. His father was part of the core team in the command center but obviously, he refused to tell Dean anything. 

The box was actually not just an ordinary prison cell. It was perhaps the most heavily guarded room in all of Missouri. While Dean had only been there once, way before Michael was even captured, he knew that there were now angel proofing sigils drawn on every wall and door. Supposedly also on the chains that would hold the angel. He had never seen the sigils with his own eyes, but he knew they were the same sigils that also painted the city’s walls, together with the demon warding sigils. They hadn’t been there when the city was first built, but a few years ago a traveling hunter who specialized in angel warding was kind enough to teach them everything he knew. 

Dean took the early bus to the command center to follow his daily training. He was also hoping to talk to his dad about his position as a hunter. He had always been interested in joining the inner circle of hunters. They were the ones responsible for taking care of the city, making sure that everyone within its walls was safe. When the hunters had their first big showdown with the angels nearly over thirty years ago, a lot of lives were lost. The attacks became more frequent and the inner circle was the first to start building the walls of the city. When Dean’s mother was killed by demons, John made it his mission to hunt down every single demon he came across. This meant that he had to make sure Sam and Dean were safe while he was out hunting. That was when they had moved into the city, where they lived with Bobby for most of their childhood. Dean despised demons, but at least their motives were clear. They were evil and all they did was evil shit, this much made sense. But why angels would attack innocent human beings, Dean would never understand. This was why he had made it his mission to hunt the bastards down and show them that hunters are not to be messed with. The unfortunate thing about this was that there wasn’t much lore on angels. Sure, there was your standard bible bullshit and a few books that went into a bit more depth about the celestials, but those books were strictly forbidden to read by anyone other than the inner circle. Dean never understood why, wouldn’t it make sense if every hunter in the city was prepared to face their most dangerous opponent? 

After his training, he made his way over to the armory, where he knew his dad would be. Every time that his dad had an important meeting he would make a habit out of cleaning his weapons, Dean guessed it was a nervous tick. 

“Hey, dad,” Dean said. He walked into the armory where John, as Dean had predicted, was hunched over his weapons. 

“Son,” John smiled up at him from where he was sitting at the table. 

Dean mentally high fived himself to have caught his dad in a good mood. They hadn’t really argued anymore after that night, but Dean knew better than to push his luck. But apparently, his attempt at trying hard to be a good son had paid off. 

“So, important meeting today, huh?” Dean asked carefully.

“Yup, even the higher ranks are coming in today,” John said while cleaning the inside of a rifle. 

“Did something happen?” Dean inquired.

“Just some new information to go through,” John replied. “You know I can’t tell you more than that.” 

“I know,” Dean toyed with one of the cleaning rods on the table. “I was just wondering if you and the others had gotten anywhere with Michael yet.” 

“No, not since we captured him.” 

“How do you even capture an angel?” Dean asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“It takes a lot of patience,” John didn’t look up from the table. “And spellwork beyond your paygrade.” 

“Well can’t they be killed?” Dean was now fidgeting with one of the knives that were displayed on the wall. 

His dad eyed him suspiciously. “Only angels know how to other kill angels, you know this.” 

“Well, I figured since you guys know how to trap these bastards now-”

“Enough about the angels, son,” John said with a cold tone in his voice.

As much as Dean tried, he knew he had a bigger chance of winning the lottery than getting his dad to share more information. The truth was that Dean had always been fascinated by the war between angels and humans. It seemed so contradictory that the ones who were supposed to watch over the humans had made it their mission to royally fuck them over. 

Dean had paid attention in school to all the lessons about angels, but the truth was that the hunters simply didn’t know a lot about them. He had spent a few hours researching them himself, but when it didn’t give him the immediate answers he was looking for he got bored. Guess he just wasn’t as big of a nerd as Sam.

Dean was really pushing his luck right now. 

“I could take on one of the guard shifts at the box,” Dean tried.

“Absolutely not,” John turned back to cleaning his shotgun. 

“How can it be any more dangerous than sending me straight into a fistfight with a pack of werewolves?” Dean knew he was treading on thin ice by going against his father, but he was tired of being treated like a child. He was old enough to be involved in the more important matters and his hunting skills were as good as any other higher ranking hunter. 

“I said no,” John’s tone was strict. “Go check in with Bobby soon, I think he found another case for you and Sam. Just make sure he goes with you this time.”

“Yes, Sir,” Dean said. If his dad wasn’t going to tell him more about the angel mission, he would just have to find out for himself. 

* * *

It was unusual for angels to meet under a gazebo in Heaven’s gardens. However one would hardly find a place that was more discrete to discuss important matters. The colorful gardens filled with daffodils, bluebells, and hyacinths created an eternal season of spring. In the stream of water, rocks were as green as mountains and lilypads floated with grace. Tall weeping willows and cherry blossoms sheltered the area from prying eyes. Finding a more serene place in Heaven would be rather difficult. That was why Metatron chose this exact place to meet his brother, whom he considered his inferior. 

“You called for me?” Uriel asked his leader.

“Yes, I have another thing I would like you to take care of for me.” Metatron’s tone held nearly any signs of interest. He wasn’t even looking in Uriel’s direction, instead, he seemed to be deeply fascinated by a branch of cherry blossom that curled around one of the gazebo’s arches. 

“Thank you, sir,” Uriel said. “I won’t let you down this time.” 

“I know you won’t because even you couldn’t mess up what I’m about to ask of you.” 

“Sir?” Uriel asked, uncertainty laced in his voice.

“Now now, let’s not waste time quarreling over your failed attempt to play catch with the hunters.

“I have to say I still don’t know what happened,” Uriel looked puzzled. “However, I do come bearing good news.” 

“Yes?” Metatron looked up for the first time in their conversation. 

“Zachariah, Gadreel, Malachi, and Naomi have decided to pledge their allegiance.” 

“What about the others?” 

“They are coming around, they just need a bit more time to adjust.”

“Balthazar and Anna, what about their garrisons?” 

“I’m afraid they need some more convincing,” Uriel said. “Maybe there’s another way to show them that you’re a powerful leader. What about those hunters within that city that are threatening to ruin your plan?”

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about that little pestilence?” Metatron raised one of his eyebrows.

“No, of course not.” Uriel’s face displayed a nervous smile. “However they have found ways to keep us out of their walls for years. Not to mention that they’ve got Michael locked away in there somewhere.” 

“Yes, a terrible inconvenience,” Metatron didn't show a trace of emotion. “Don’t you worry, I have got it all under control.” 

“You have a plan?” Uriel’s smile grew confident.

“Of course, my little brother” Metatron picked a single flower from one of the nearest cherry blossoms.

“Well tell me,” Uriel requested. 

“No,” Metatron said while crushing the pink flower in his hand. “The less you know, the better.” 

“But-”

“Now back to this favor you’re going to do for me,” Metatron interrupted him. 

* * *

Dean was on his way to Bobby’s cabin, which was only a few minute walk from the Winchesters’ cabin. He had taken a quick shower after training before heading out again. Sam had spent the entire day busy helping Ellen at the Roadhouse, so they hadn’t seen each other today. When Sam came home Dean gave his brother a quick update and told him that Bobby possibly had a new case for them. Sam was half asleep on the couch and didn’t feel like joining Dean, instead, he told his brother to say hi to Bobby. 

Bobby had always been like a second father to Dean, just a lot nicer and more understanding version than John Winchester. Maybe Dean would have more luck getting some information out of Bobby. He was a higher rank hunter after all, even though he didn’t attend the meetings anymore. Dean knocked at Bobby’s door and heard the familiar ‘Come in’. Bobby was sitting at the kitchen table, a microwave dinner, and a beer in front of him. He seemed to be in a good mood, so what better time was there for Dean to try and find out more information. Dean pushed one of the chairs back and joined Bobby at the table. 

After some small talk about Dean’s training today and Bobby’s hunt for a new car, Dean decided it was time to try his luck for a second time today.

“So Bobby, what do you know about capturing angels?”

“You know better than to be asking me these questions, boy.” Bobby shook his head.

“Well, how can I be prepared if no one will tell me anything,” Dean pressed.

Bobby barked out a laugh that startled Dean, “prepared for what exactly?” 

“What if they’re planning another attack?” Dean felt himself getting angry, why was everyone so determined to keep shit from him?

“There’s plenty of people to worry about those kinds of things,” Bobby was as calm as ever. Unlike his dad, Bobby was never one to start an argument, well not with Dean anyway. 

“Well, I think it would be a great idea to let more people in on all those little secrets you guys keep,” Dean said, crossing his arms. 

“And I think you’re being a dumbass,” Bobby looked at him from his chair. “Don’t start putting yourself in unnecessary danger, wasn’t nearly dying last week enough of a thrill-ride for ya?”

“Well I’m fine, aren’t I?” Dean threw his hands in the air which caused his right leg to sting, but he refused to let the pain display across his face.

“Dean,” Bobby sighed. “What happened to you was damn near a miracle and I wouldn’t be so sure if it was a good thing yet. So please, for my old heart’s sake, don’t start acting stupid.” 

Something in Bobby’s voice stopped Dean from pressing the matter. 

“So,” Dean cleared his throat. “Dad told me you had a possible case for me and Sam?” 

“Yeah,” Bobby looked pleased about the change of subject. “I heard something about an abandoned office building in Colorado being infested with demons.” 

“Like a hideout?” 

“Sure looks like it,” 

“What could demons possibly be hiding from?” Dean wondered out loud.

Bobby gave him a look that said ‘isn’t it obvious’. 

“What do angels want with demons then? Aren't they both after the same thing?”

“Well don’t be so sure about that,” Bobby said while sipping his beer.

“Both of them would kill us within a second, isn’t that saying something?” 

Bobby laughed and Dean couldn’t help but join him. They stayed there for hours talking about demons over cheap beers and whiskey. Dean didn’t bring up Michael or the box like he had planned to, he felt bad to ask Bobby. He would just have to ask around somewhere else, maybe The Roadhouse? 

* * *

They spent the next few days preparing for the hunting trip to Colorado. The weather had been awful which was why Dean was home earlier than usual on Friday. 

Dean kicked off his boots and plopped down in front of the tv. The fire was crackling in the fireplace casting a warm glow across the room. It was a great contrast to the cold stormy weather outside. Dean shuddered as the violent gusts of wind swept against the side of the cabin. Training had been canceled today because of the storm outside which meant he actually got some free time for once. He looked over to find Sam hunched over his laptop in the exact position he had been in when Dean had left for the command center. He wondered if Sam had moved at all today. 

“Shouldn’t you eat?” Dean commented. 

“Shouldn’t you shower?” Sam fired back.

The sound of tv static and eerie music blasted from the tv. 

“Don’t you see enough horror on a daily basis?” Sam didn't look up from his laptop screen while talking to his brother. 

“Poltergeist is a classic,” Dean said with a serious tone. 

“Yeah, you made me watch it when I was five. I had to sleep within a circle of salt while clutching an iron poker for ages.”

“Oh, yeah” Dean smirked. “I forgot about that.” 

“Yeah, it wasn’t that funny. Neither was making me watch The Shining when I was seven.”

“You spend too much time on that laptop, what are you reading this time? How to get a girl to fall for you in ten easy steps?’

“Funny, I was-” 

“Come on, Sammy, watch the movie with me.” Dean kicked Sam’s laptop closed with his feet. 

“Hey,” Sam pushed Dean’s feet away. “I was actually trying to do some research, on the light source you saw.” 

“Don’t we spend enough time at Bobby’s trying to research that thing? Live a little, Sammy.” 

“Stop calling me that,” 

“Only if you watch this movie with me,” 

“Fine,” Sam got up from his chair to join Dean on the couch. 

“Oh, grab us some beers while you’re at it.” 

“You’re unbelievable,” 

“Unbelievably good looking,” Dean winked at his brother who just shook his head. 

They spent the entire movie bickering about the logistics of the plot. At least his younger brother was eating something, it appeared to be some leftover chicken casserole that Ellen had made. They both laughed when a bad infomercial tried to convert them to believe in God and his mighty angels during one of the breaks. For the first time in months, Dean felt content. 

* * *

Demons were a fan of cliches all right. Gathering in abandoned buildings, possessing creepy looking bastards, and waiting until dark to go outside for their version of a good time. Most of the demons they caught had been outside of their little safety bunkers, but hunters didn’t believe in taking chances. So Sam and Dean drove up to Colorado with Bobby to deal with these sons of bitches in the place where they were hiding. They had agreed to split up, to cover both entrances. Unfortunately during a stake-out, it became clear that one of the entrances used wasn’t a door at all, but a window on the first floor. After three (very heated) rounds of rock, paper, scissors, Dean was headed over to the dumpsters that stood below the window. A demon knife carefully tucked away in his right boot. 

“Son of a bitch,” he cursed as his left foot slipped off the lid and landed in a particular moist piece of trash. He hoisted himself onto the window sill and made sure to lower himself quietly. The rifle on his back caught on the window sill and Dean tried to untangle it but a loud thud made him stop dead in his tracks. He immediately grabbed ahold of his holy water while scanning the room for a possible enemy. There was no one in the room with him and there was complete silence again. Dean figured that either Bobby or Sam must have tripped over something. He was standing in what appeared to be an old office. There were old desks covered in dust and dirt. Some desks were still fully equipped with computers, notebooks, and organizer trays, others had spots of noticeably less dust on them. Someone had definitely been up here, but Dean was pretty sure demons hadn't been there to steal some goddamn office supplies. Whatever these assholes were up to, it couldn’t be good.

The door to the hallway was ajar, Dean made his way to it steadily. Making sure not to let anyone know he was there. The hallway turned out to be empty. He opened the door leading to the staircase when another loud thud caught his attention. The sound seemed to be coming from his floor. He turned around to look for the source when a blow to his stomach sent him flying backward. His back collided with the nearest wall causing him to gasp for air. He reached into the pocket of his coat for the flask of holy water. He stood up, readying himself for the next attack but his leg gave a warning stab of sharp pain. 

“A little help here!” Dean called out in hope Sam or Bobby would hear him and hurry up. 

“Ah, don’t you want to have a little fun together first?” The figure grinned as its eyes turned jet-black.

“Sorry, you’re not really my type.” Dean managed to get the cap open and with a swing of his arm, he splashed the demon with holy water.

It screamed in anger, drowning the sound of its sizzling flesh. 

Dean had mere seconds before the next attack, the demon lunged at him. It crashed into him and they both fell to the floor. Dean’s leg was screaming in pain, but there was no time to waste. H _e_ tried to get away from the demon as quickly as possible while looking around for the flask which he had dropped. 

The enemy got up and a whistle escaped its lips. 

_Fuck,_ this was not going to work out in Dean’s favor. It was probably summoning its buddies, while he was still alone. Speaking of, what the hell happened to team mentality? Dean knew he had the demon knife, but he was waiting for the right moment to use it. Any mistake could pretty much cost him his life. He reached the flask of holy water, ready to throw more into the demon's direction. 

To his _not so much_ surprise, three demons were now standing in front of him. One of the new arrivals lunged forward in order to punch Dean in the jaw. Dean dodged and used the moment to grab the demon knife from his boot. He managed to twist the knife in the demon's chest when he stood back up, it shook under his hand before and a bright yellow light erupted from the demon’s mouth and eyes. The light was visible from underneath its skin, unveiling every nerve in its body like its core was on fire. After a couple of seconds, the light dimmed and the body fell to the ground with a loud thud. 

The remaining two demons hissed and lunged at him simultaneously. Dean staggered backward, bracing himself for the pain that was about to follow. And it did. One of the demons managed to hit him in the guts while the other struck him on the jaw, leaving Dean´s head spinning. 

After a few dizzying seconds, Dean got a hold of himself and created some distance between him and his assailants, carefully deciding whether he would try to use the demon knife again or would wait for the others to arrive. Dean got a glimpse of one of the demons that was eyeing his movements and noticing his limp before it tried its luck by kicking Dean hard in the upper thigh. A stabbing pain shot through his leg, causing him to fall on his knee while gasping for air. 

‘’Is this all they teach you in hell, you black-eyed son of a bitch?’’ Dean uttered angrily through his clenched teeth. 

The demon, seemingly not impressed by Dean’s words judging from the look on him, threw another punch in the direction of Dean’s face. Dean anticipated the blow and dodged it by ducking underneath the arm of the demon, bringing the hand still holding the demon blade up with enough force to bury it in the demon’s chest. A deafening scream echoed through the hallway and the bright yellow light followed.

The other demon immediately charged at Dean, infuriated by the death of his companions. It threw Dean through the hallway like he was no heavier than a ragdoll. Dean tried to get onto his feet quickly but the demon was already on top of him, grabbing his head and pressing his fingers on Dean’s eyes by forcing its fingertips into them. Dean tried to block it by slamming his arm against its wrist. In reaction the demon smashed Dean’s head into the concrete floor, causing Dean to nearly pass out. A warm fluid started to trickle through his hair and onto the concrete floor. 

_This is it,_ Dean thought. _This is how I die, by the hands of a low-level fucking demon_. No heroic guns blazing end and absolutely not a peaceful one. Well, he favored Poltergeist over movies with sappy endings anyway. 

The demon grabbed Dean’s head in order to smash it on the ground for a second time, but it was startled by the sound of footsteps running through the hallway. It had apparently decided that the fighting was over because black smoke immediately erupted from the demon’s mouth. The now-empty vessel dropped onto Dean and he had to awkwardly throw the heavy body off of him. 

“Dean!” his little brother called out from the other end of the hallway. 

“What took you so long?” Dean said panting from where he was on the floor.

“Sorry, boy, but we got ambushed.” Bobby shrugged apologetically. A cut ran across his left eyebrow and cheekbone. 

Dean quickly looked over at Sam, who seemed to be in one piece, _thank god._

“Someone knew we were coming,” Bobby followed. 

Sam walked over to his brother to help him off the floor, “but who?” he asked once his shoulder was steadily positioned under Dean’s arm. 

“I ain’t got a clue,” Bobby said.

“That seems to be the answer a lot these days,” Dean looked out into the hallway. He could have sworn he just saw something move, but maybe it was just the concussion making him see things. 

It happened just as they were making their way back to the car, they were nearly at the main exit when Dean saw it; a flash of light. It wasn’t bright enough for Sam and Bobby to notice, but then they weren’t looking for something out of the ordinary. 

They made it outside without encountering any other demons. Sam and Bobby were busy arguing about how the demons would have known they were coming. But Dean wasn’t paying any attention to them, he was too distracted by his own thoughts. He had just seen it out of the corner of his eye and hell, he wasn’t even sure if he had imagined it or not, but his gut was telling him to go back and check. 

“You guys go ahead, I’ll be right up,” he told them. Sam tried to protest but Dean just ushered them away. He waited until they got into their cars before he returned to the hallway towards the direction where he thought he’d seen the light. 

Before he even reached the room he could sense the feeling of someone looking directly at him. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck rose up.

That’s impossible, it couldn’t have followed him here. 

Dean turned around, clutching the knife in one hand and holy water in the other. He tried to appear braver than he felt. 

“I'm only going to ask this once. Who are you? And why do you keep following me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three was definitely a fun one to write! I was definitely worried it wouldn't be done in time, but then who is keeping track of my upload schedule? 
> 
> I would love to know your thoughts on this chapter and let me know what you're excited for in the next chapter(s) :)


	4. Chapter 4

_“I'm only going to ask this once. Who are you? And why do you keep following me?”_

A figure was standing in front of him, barely visible in the dark apart from his features which were sparsely illuminated by a single source of light.

The stranger was quiet, just standing there, still as a statue. Dean shuffled nervously on his feet, this silence was making him uncomfortable. He should say something else, try to provoke his opponent, but nothing came to mind. There was something unnerving about the way the figure wasn't showing anything, no emotion, no movement, no trace of a personality. The only thing that seemed human about him, was his dark tousled hair, which conflicted with the rigidness of his entire body.

Dean’s right hand tightened the grip on his demon knife, the holy water in his hand felt as useful as a stick of butter in a gunfight. 

“Those won't do you any good.” It said as if it could read Dean's mind.

Dean tried his best not to look caught off guard. Though it wasn't the words that shook him, it was the deep, menacing voice that had spoken them.

“Are you going to answer me or not?” Dean pressed, pretending to sound at least equally as threatening. 

“Or not,” the figure said. He still hadn’t moved a muscle, though his voice carried the smallest hint of doubt, unlike before. 

“I warned you,” Dean spat, as he pulled the shotgun from his back, _damn the holy water_ , and fired it without hesitation. There was no way the statue was able to dodge the rocksalt bullet in time, Dean thought. But the smug smile on his face faltered quickly because whatever was standing in front of him didn't appear to be faced by the bullet one bit.

He fired again, two shots this time. Making sure the bullets hit their target, they did. But the figure showed the same lack of any injury. _Man, really?_ Dean thought to himself. _Not even a flesh wound?_ Today was not his lucky day.

Finally, for the first time in their encounter, the figure moved. It looked strange. As it stepped closer towards him, Dean played his last trick, he reached for the demon knife and forced the steel into his enemy’s chest. Nothing again. 

“I told you.” It said while slowly pulling the knife out of its chest. “Those won't do you any good.” 

“Yeah, so I've noticed,” Dean made sure not to step back. “Then let me rephrase my question here,” his next words were spoken with venom in his tone. “ _What_ are you?” 

The figure looked at him, they were only inches away from each other. “I think you already know.” The words didn’t sound pleased. This was the first time Dean could find a trace of emotion on its face. 

“And why would someone of your kind follow me around?” Dean asked angrily. This didn't make any sense, but could it be lying? Dean was still hoping the figure would laugh, and that everything was nothing more but a cruel trick on his mind. 

The figure didn’t say anything.

“Were you sent to torture me?” Dean guessed. That was the only sensible explanation. Heaven wanted Dean to tell them all the city’s secrets. “Because I can tell you right now! You’ve got the wrong guy. I won’t tell you fucking jack shit!” 

“No, that’s not why I’m here.” There was a short pause. “And my name is not Jack.” 

“That’s just a - nevermind. Then why the hell would an _angel_ be here?”

“Because of you,” the angel replied.

“What do you want with me?” Dean asked, really losing his temper with this angel dude. 

“It's not of any importance, you won't see me again.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Dean had never met an angel before, he wondered for a second if they were all this fucking vague.

“I would appreciate it if you told no one about tonight.” The angel tilted its head ever so slightly. “Though, who am I to stop you?” 

“What makes you think I'm letting you walk away?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Your poor selection of weaponry does.”

“I can still fight you.” Dean felt a rush of adrenaline flow through his body. 

The angel screwed his eyes shut for just a second. There was that hint of emotion again, it looked strange on his face, foreign even. 

“Your bravery makes you foolish, Dean Winchester.” 

“Just one of my many qualities,” Dean smiled sarcastically. 

“I don't think being foolish qualifies as a good trait.” The angel tilted its head again and Dean couldn’t decide if the angel showing emotion was unsettling or somewhat funny to him. 

“Right,” Dean said, feeling annoyed. He realized they were now standing only a few feet apart. This didn't make any sense, if this guy was an angel, why wasn't Dean dead by now? 

“So you're not gonna fight me?” Dean asked with serious confusion. 

“No,” the angel replied with a low voice. 

“But you're not going to answer my questions either, am I right?” Dean felt like he was stalling, he was trying to think of something - anything better than letting the angel get away.

The angel let out a sigh, was he capable of getting impatient? But then that same look of confusion appeared on his face again and Dean couldn't help but wonder what the angel was thinking about. 

“I mean it's only fair,” Dean pushed. “You follow me, seem to know things about me while I don't even know the first thing about you. I'd say that's a bit rude don't you think, I-”

“Castiel,” the angel interrupted him.

“I’m sorry?” Dean asked in confusion.

“My name.” The angel said. “That is all I can tell you.” Never had Dean seen a supernatural being look insecure, yet there was something about the look on the angel’s face. 

“That's an odd name,” Dean didn't really know how to handle the new turn in their conversation.

“I have to leave now. Live a good life, Dean Winchester.” The angel, Castiel or whatever, nodded. His expression was hard to read and before Dean could even respond, the angel disappeared into thin air. 

What the actual hell had just happened? 

Only a few seconds had passed when Bobby and Sam came rushing through the front door. 

“Dean are you alright? We heard shots,” Sam asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Dean turned to his brother. “I thought I saw something, turned out to be my own shadow, long day I guess,” Dean forced a smile. 

“Then let’s get out of here, this ain’t exactly a cozy street cafe,” Bobby said. 

They walked back to their cars with Sam supporting Dean’s shoulder again. The dark street started spinning before Dean’s eyes so he didn’t protest when Sam suggested driving. 

* * *

Sam and Dean had been on the road for nearly ten hours when they decided it was best to stop for breakfast. 

They sat down at Grandma’s Breakfast Nook, Dean had snorted at the name. Bobby had called to let them know he was going straight back to the command center, to tell (or yell at) commander Barnes about the ambush. 

Sam ordered his boring porridge with berries, while Dean had his eye on the chicken waffle and bacon combo. The food arrived and both boys tucked in with their stomachs growling after driving through the night. When they had both downed a considerable amount of food they talked about the fact that both the pack of werewolves and the group of demons had been expecting them. Sam pointed out that it was all too coincidental and Dean couldn’t have agreed more, there was definitely something fishy going on here. He wanted to tell Sam about the angel, he really did. But something was telling him not to. Dean couldn’t tell if it was because of the angel’s request not to, but then why would he care about what angels wanted. And even if he did tell Sam, what would it solve exactly? The angel said they would never meet again and Dean wouldn’t want it any other way, so case closed. They scarfed down the rest of their food and Dean went to pay while Sam went to the restroom. 

Dean waited at the register for quite a few minutes after he had paid. He had been busy picking at the jar of free candy on the counter. Either Sam was watching porn on the toilet or he was in some sort of trouble, knowing his little brother better than anyone Dean definitely guessed the latter. He made his way over to the restroom, thanking his lucky stars for keeping the demon knife on him. He was on his way to the restroom when he noticed that the restaurant’s backdoor was slightly open, sounds of struggle came from the alley behind it. 

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He immediately yanked the door open and his insides grew cold when he saw his little brother covered in blood. Someone or _something_ forced him against the wall, pressing a shard of glass against his throat. 

“Hey!” Dean screamed in anger. “Let him go you son of a bitch,” he didn’t hesitate for another moment. Black eyes met his seconds before Dean lunged forward. The knife pierced the demon’s skin before it could react, it convulsed violently before it fell at the brothers’ feet. 

Dean quickly stepped over the body, reaching for his younger brother who was now slumped against the wall. He knelt down next to his brother, who seemed to be unconscious. 

“Sammy?” Dean tried hard to ignore the blood that was pouring out of Sam’s throat at an alarming rate. 

_Shit. Fuck. No,_ this wasn’t supposed to happen. As Dean pressed his hand against the bleeding wound, he desperately looked around for help, but there was no one. His mind was racing, Bobby was probably an hour away by now and they had left their phones in the car anyway. _Damnit!_ He wouldn’t let Sam die, not on his watch. 

Dean took a deep breath, there was only one option he could think of and he didn’t like it. He took a deep breath and pushed away the nagging thoughts in his brain. 

“Castiel?” Dean called out into the empty alley. He felt really stupid trying to call someone who probably wasn’t even on the same fucking planet.

“I need some help here,” he cleared his throat, “Cas-”

“Hello, Dean.” 

“Jesus,” Dean jumped. “You scared the ever-loving pie out of me.” 

The angel looked somewhat confused before it spoke again. “Why did you call on me?”

Dean’s mind raced back to reality. Sammy. 

“It’s Sam, he’s hurt.” Dean hugged his brother closer. Sam’s shirt was almost entirely covered in blood by now. “I didn’t know what to do, and I know you healed me back at the cabin, so I figured...” he didn’t have the strength to hide the panic in his voice.

“You want me to heal him?” Castiel guessed. 

“Yes,”

“I really shouldn’t,” the angel spoke with hesitation.

“Please?” Dean couldn’t give a fuck that he was pleading with an angel right now, all that mattered was his little brother. “He means everything to me.” 

The angel tilted its head slightly as if it helped to comprehend Dean’s words. “Fine, I will heal him. But you cannot tell anyone about this.” 

“I promise,” Dean’s heart was nearly beating out of his chest with worry. 

“You might want to go inside. You probably won’t want to see this.” 

“I’m not leaving you alone with him,” Dean snapped.

“You don’t trust me enough to leave me alone with your brother, yet you do trust me to heal him?” Castiel's tone was somewhat impatient. 

Dean hesitated, he really wasn’t a fan of leaving the angel alone with Sam. But the angel had a point. A stupid, obnoxious, and annoying but fair point. He slowly got up, making sure that Sam’s limp body was still resting against the brick wall. 

“You have one minute before I come barging back, and he’d better be in one piece by then.”

The angel nodded.

The backdoor closed behind Dean and he couldn’t help but feel uneasy about the whole situation. If his dad ever found out about this Dean would be the one in need of some healing. At least Sam was going to be okay. Dean looked down at his watch, which was covered in blood. He tried counting every second that went by. He meant what he had said about only giving the angel one minute. What if Castiel was sent to gain Dean's trust so that he could easily kill them both. Or what if he was there to obtain information from him? Had he just made the dumbest mistake of his life? 

Dean contemplated going out there before the minute was up when a blue light seeped through the crack under the door. The light cast a shadow on the kitchen floor. Dean recognized it immediately. Then the light slowly faded again and Dean found himself standing with his hand on the door handle before he realized it. 

This had to be his cue. He quickly opened the door, Castiel was crouched next to Sam who looked to be asleep.

“And?” Dean asked nervously.

“He will be fine, he just needs to rest.” There was something different about the angel’s voice, it sounded winded. 

“Dude, are you okay?” It wasn’t concern that laced Dean’s voice. He just wanted to know that the angel had done everything in its power to heal Sam, that was all.

“It took quite a lot of power to heal your brother, my power will be replenished again in a few minutes.” Castiel's legs were unsteady as he stood up straight and for a second Dean hesitated to reach for him, but he decided against it. 

He looked back to his brother, who slowly started to regain consciousness. It didn’t surprise him when the angel disappeared not even a full second after that. 

“Sammy?” Dean knelt back down and placed a hand on Sam’s face to hold his head up. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice sounded weak. 

“Yeah, I’m here.” Dean made sure his brother was looking at him. 

“What happened?” Sam blinked a few times as if he was trying to make something go away. 

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Dean knew this was gonna come up sooner later, but he’d rather choose later. “Come on, let’s get you to the car.”

He slowly got Sam up on his feet and made sure to support his brother’s weight. His right leg was searing with pain, but Dean couldn’t care less. As long as his brother was going to be fine. Cas had told him that Sam was gonna be okay, Dean kept repeating to himself. 

They finally got to the car and Dean slowly lowered Sam onto the back seat of the Impala. Luckily the car park was nearly empty and there were no prying eyes to watch Dean as he cursed under his breath. He was leaning against the hood of his car, trying to block out the pain by taking slow and deep breaths, something Bobby had once taught him. Though the skin around the wound on Dean’s leg had closed up, the area around it felt tight and swollen. His muscles weren’t nearly as strong as they were before his run-in with the werewolves and it annoyed the shit out of him. He used to be one of the better hunters ( _sorry Sammy_ ), but now he was getting his ass kicked by a couple of low-class demons. He wondered briefly how the demon had found them at the restaurant, but waved away the thought. After all, they wouldn’t be much of a problem anymore. 

Dean looked back at his brother, who was now fast asleep in the back seat. His long legs looked cramped up against the door and his hair was draped across his face, if it wasn’t for Sam’s near-death experience, Dean would have laughed at the sight. 

Dean stretched his leg out in front of him, hoping it wasn’t going to give him hell during the three-hour car ride they had ahead of them. 

“I could heal your leg if you would want me to,” Castiel reappeared out of nowhere, giving Dean’s heart yet another near cardiac arrest. 

“What?” Dean was too surprised by the question to sound guarded. 

“Last time when I healed you, my grace wasn’t strong enough after fighting off the pack of werewolves. But I could fully heal you now. If you’d let me.”

Dean thought about this for a moment, trusting an angel to do any mojo on him again seemed like a bad idea. But why would it lie after everything it had already done for him and Sam? _No_ , this was still a bad idea. And not to mention the fact that his dad would kill him. That thought ran through Dean’s mind a lot these days. 

“No, it’s okay,” Dean said. “It’ll heal,” he decided he shouldn’t test his luck any further.

“Your leg is in no condition for you to drive back to the city.” 

“And you care about this, why?” Dean asked suspiciously. “I mean, why go through all this trouble to heal a human? ” 

“I don’t know,” 

“You don’t know?” Dean was taken aback by the angel’s answer. “What’s in it for you, huh?”

Castiel fell silent for a moment, he seemed to be contemplating something. “There’s nothing I gain by healing humans. Not everything I do has ill intentions, Dean.” 

“I don’t believe for a second that you’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because you’re an angel, aren’t you all just a bunch of dicks?” 

“We weren’t always this way, some of us still believe in our initial orders. We believe in humanity.”

“Cut the bullshit because I’m not buying it for a second,” 

“Why is it so hard for you to believe that good things do happen?” The angel looked at him with a strange expression. “I saved you from the pack of werewolves and I just healed your brother.”

The angel did have a point, that was twice already, and Dean hated it. 

“Well excuse me if I’m a little less trusting after you guys tried to kill us several times.”

“Yes, that is unfortunate,” Castiel said.

“Unfortunate? That’s a crappy way to put it.” Dean huffed. 

“I have to go back soon, so do you want me to heal your leg or not?” Castiel sounded impatient.

Dean’s mind was telling him no. “I guess,” _what the fuck?_

“Then sit down and take off your pants,” the angel ordered. 

“Jeez Cas, you could at least buy me dinner first,” Dean laughed nervously. What the fuck was up with the nickname? 

The angel squinted his eyes. “Why would I buy you dinner?” 

Dean rolled his eyes as he sat down in the front seat of his car with the door open. 

“Well this is awkward,” he said as he pulled down the denim jeans to uncover his legs. 

“I’ve healed enough wounds on the battlefield, this doesn’t phase me,” Castiel said stoically as he moved closer.

“Well just don’t start feeling-“ Dean drew in a sharp breath. For some reason he expected the angel’s touch to feel cold, like his demeanor. But his hand felt like a warm touch, human even. 

The angel looked at him, probably checking to see if Dean was okay, but his gaze was so intense that Dean couldn’t help but look away. This really was the pinnacle of awkwardness. Dean tried focusing on Castiel’s clothing instead, he realized he hadn’t paid much attention to what the angel was wearing. But then again Dean had been very busy trying to kill him earlier.

Dean noticed that Castiel’s appearance was far from what Hollywood made people believe angels looked like. For example, he didn’t appear to have any wings or a harp for that matter. Instead, he wore something that Dean could only describe as loose-fitting clothes that were made out of a material he had never seen before. They resembled human clothes in some ways, but they wouldn’t exactly appear in Jo’s fashion magazines, which mind you, he had only read once because he got bored of the never-ending chores at Ellen’s. 

First of all, he had never imagined angels to wear light brown pants that appeared to be made out of a leathery fabric. The angel’s white shirt seemed to be made out of a metallic material yet at the same time it was loosely draped around his torso. Dean wondered briefly if all angels dressed the same before he decided he couldn’t care less. 

Dean's thoughts were interrupted by a bright light that slowly started to emerge from Castiel’s hand, Dean recognized it immediately. He watched mesmerized by the light until it became too bright to bear, he pressed his arm over his eyes to shield them from the vibrant glow. The familiar warm sensation started to trickle through his leg. He could feel every muscle in his leg release of any tension and pain it had been holding onto for the past week. He had to resist the urge to open his eyes until the warm glow dimmed together with the bright light until the angel’s hand lay flat on Dean’s now perfectly healed thigh. 

“It’s done,” Castiel said in a low voice. 

“Yeah,” Dean cleared his suddenly dry throat. “Thanks.” 

* * *

Dean woke up feeling surprisingly well-rested, vague flashes of his dream filled his mind. A beautiful beam of light kept appearing, never leaving no matter where he went. It felt warm and trusted, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

He had forgotten about the dream by the time he got downstairs. Sam was still asleep and Dean didn’t want to push his luck so he decided he would stop at Ellen’s for breakfast. The longer he stayed the bigger the chance that he would run into Sam and all the other questions that were definitely brewing in that big head of his.

Dean stepped onto the porch and let the chilly air hit his face. The grass was slightly dewy from where it had been frozen at night, signaling that winter was getting near. But the sun had turned the white frost into small droplets on each individual blade. Dean briefly closed his eyes, letting the morning sun warm his face. Though the wind was crisp and cold, the air felt refreshing. Dean didn’t often find himself enjoying the simple thing in life, but this peaceful morning was pretty damn awesome.

He turned on the engine of the car and let the heating melt away the fogged up windows. He was so focused on picking out the right song that he didn’t notice his dad walking up to the car. 

Dean jumped at the knock on his car window but rolled it down. He silently cursed himself for taking so long to pick a song, which let’s be honest, was probably gonna be either ‘Ramble on’ or ‘Traveling Riverside Blues’ anyway. 

“Morning son,” John Winchester said through the open window. 

_please don’t ask questions, please don’t ask questions_. “Morning, Dad,” Dean smiled. 

“So I noticed you were up early and your brother was still asleep, which is convenient because I wanted to ask you something.”

 _Great._ “What is it?” Dean tried to sound casual. 

“Did you save Sammy’s life back there?” John’s tone was serious but there was something different about his expression, gratitude maybe? 

“Uh,” Dean struggled to come up with an answer, great fucking going, Winchester. “Well, I wouldn’t necessarily call it saving him. I just showed up on time to gank the son of a bitch who tried to hurt Sam.” 

“Well, you did good, son.” It looked as if his father struggled just as much as Dean to get his words out. 

“Thank you, sir,” Dean replied. 

There was an awkward silence between them before both of them cleared their throats and John walked away with a small nod. 

Dean felt extremely relieved that his dad hadn’t pressed the issue. He felt bad enough lying to Sam about what happened, he didn’t need more of this moral compass bullshit. Not that Sam had even bought his lies for one second, he wouldn’t stop asking about the details of what had happened. How it was possible that Dean’s leg was completely fine and how they managed to get away from the demon in the alley. Dean had put it down to luck, but that wasn’t gonna cut it forever. 

As he drove off he thought it best to let the whole thing go for now. He was confused enough of his own accord already, he didn’t want to explain it to anyone, including himself. 

* * *

Castiel found himself surrounded by every shade of green imaginable. He stood in a forest thick with tall trees and a variety of plants and animals. Little beads of sweat started to cling to his skin immediately as the tropical climate engulfed him in a warm hug. The different climates on earth were something Castiel would probably never get used to. He could feel every little creature buzzing with life; birds, insects, and reptiles. The ground trembled every so often when a wild animal moved on the jungle floor. The air was filled with at least a thousand different smells that were each unique to plants and flowers. Castiel wondered why Uriel had summoned him here in the middle of a jungle. A flash of bright yellow caught his eye and the angel stepped closer to take a better look at a flower he had never seen before. It was strange, after so many years of roaming the earth, it was still able to hold so many little undiscovered secrets. The smell of the flower distinguished itself from the other scents around him, it was sweet, and yet it also had a distinctly unpleasant fragrance. Somehow he found himself leaning in even closer. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a deep voice came from behind him. 

“Uriel,” Castiel turned around.

“Brother,” Uriel nodded. “How is the mission going?”

“It’s going well,'' Castiel said. “the hunters are still unaware of our involvement.”

“That’s great news,” Uriel replied. “And the hunters I told you about?”

“They’re still alive,” Castiel hesitated for a moment. He should mention the close encounters to Uriel, but that also meant explaining how these hunters miraculously survived. He decided to say nothing. 

“Are they at least hundreds of miles out of reach from the city?” 

“No,” again Castiel wished he could tell Uriel the truth. He didn’t like lying to his brother, especially not about their mission. However, he had no way of ever explaining the things he had done. He wasn’t even fully able to explain it to himself. 

“Castiel, you know our orders. Metatron won’t be patient for long.” 

“Yes, I am aware of that.” Castiel was _very_ aware of the fact that he wouldn’t be able to avoid Metatron’s involvement for much longer. 

Uriel visibly tensed. “Then get rid of them one way or another, I don’t care how you do it. Just make sure the Winchester family won’t get in the way of the plan.”

“Yes of course,” Castiel nodded. He would have to follow his orders sooner or later if he didn’t want to raise suspicion. All he had to do was simply get over his odd human savior complex. His involvement with these humans could cost him his life. He had to focus on his missions, as he had for the past thousands of years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading chapter 4! I think it's my favorite chapter so far, but I'd love to know what you think. 
> 
> I also want to thank my amazing friend and writer PB165 for helping me out when I get sick of my own writing, she's amazing!


	5. Chapter 5

Hunter’s City’s streets were an especially stirring and vibrant affair today. Groups of hunters started to gather at the command center in the city center, and the streets were filled with people making their way to what they heard could be an important meeting involving their fight against the angels.

Only a few of the prominent hunter families were invited to attend the confidential meeting. So of course, every single hunter in the city felt the strong urge to let their presence be noticed. A few men stood at the entrance of the grey, dull building and were struggling to keep the large crowd out. The building looked like it could have functioned as an office or perhaps a hotel in the past, but as of a few years, it functioned as the command center for hunter’s affairs.

Through the large rectangular windows on the side of the building, one was able to get a glance at what was happening inside. A group of around thirty hunters sat at a wooden table in a large hall. On the inside, the walls were covered by what looked like an arsenal. Guns, knives, bats, hatchets, crossbows, basically anything a hunter would consider a weapon was proudly decorating the hall. The group of hunters was chatting noisily until a man entered the room and took a seat in the middle of the table.

“As most of you will know, we have invited Curt Hunter to join our meeting today. I expect you all to treat him with respect. After all, he was kind enough to pass on his knowledge on angel warding.” Barnes opened the meeting.

“Wait, your last name is _Hunter_?” Rufus snorted and a few other hunters looked equally amused.

At the end of the table Curt Hunter smiled, “ironic, isn’t it?”. 

“Sounds to me like someone’s hiding something,” another hunter said. 

A few people nodded in agreement but commander Barnes shot them a warning look. 

Curt didn’t seem phased by the comment at all, he kept smiling as he spoke, “I’m an open book, honestly”.

“Enough,” Barnes said sternly. “We have more important matters to tend to than someone’s last name or ridiculous suspicions. An angel was spotted within the perimeters of our land.” 

Almost everyone at the table started talking simultaneously. 

“Well don’t you think it’s a little odd that the moment we capture the angels’ leader they go radio silent?” Bobby’s question drowned out the hunters’ voices. 

“Singer, I’m glad you decided to show up to our meetings for once,” Barnes said dryly. His tone made it very clear that he meant quite the opposite. 

“That warms my heart,” Bobby shot him a sarcastic look. 

“You think they’re planning an attack against us?” Every hunter at the table turned towards the voice in surprise, it belonged to John Winchester. He rarely spoke during meetings. 

“That’s exactly what I think,” Bobby said with determination. “It’s been three months since we trapped Michael and they haven’t tried negotiating with us once, now that don’t make a lick of sense if you ask me.”

“He has a point,” Curt Hunter said, causing the hunters to turn their surprise towards his direction. It wasn’t often that people agreed with Bobby, most hunters thought he was getting too paranoid for the job. 

“How so?” Barnes asked, looking between Curt and Bobby. 

“Angels might be absolute emotionless dicks, but they don’t do well without leadership. They are most definitely planning something against your city.” 

“Then why not just smite us off the map, don’t they have the capability?” John asked.

“That’s not how they work, don’t forget that angels are taught to protect humans. Whether they want to or not, it’s how they’re wired. That being said they’ve done worse than wipe one little city off the earth, however, that was always under supervision.” 

“What do you think their next move is?” Barnes asked, looking at Curt. 

“I don’t know,” Curt shrugged. “My guess is that they will send a small troop to negotiate Michael’s freedom.” 

“You seem to know an awful lot about angels,” Bobby eyed the traveler suspiciously. 

“Singer,” Barnes warned his fellow hunter. 

“That’s what happens when you spend time on research instead of wasting time playing ghostbusters,” Curt said with a composed look. 

“You’d better watch your tone,” Bobby spat. 

“One more word out of you and you’re suspended from these meetings!” Barnes yelled, a vein on his forehead nearly burst out of anger.

“It’s alright, he is just protecting himself. It’s common for old men to grow suspicious easily.”

“Boy, I will kick your ass so hard that you’ll have to unbutton your collar to take a shit.” 

“OUT!” Barnes stood up so fast he sent the chair underneath him flying back.

Bobby cursed something (or someone) under his breath while he threw back his own chair. He shot John an angry look before he walked out, behind him the room had fallen silent.

“Now how about we discuss a way to kill these angel basterds?” Curt spoke. 

* * *

Dean Winchester planned to let go of every angel related event that had happened the past couple of weeks. He wanted to move on and forget the whole thing ever happened. Sam, however, seemed to have the exact opposite idea. He kept bringing up the mysterious healing incidents, which were plural, _great_. There were only so many times Dean could pretend to be asleep or have an ‘urgent’ phone call to get away from Sam’s never-ending question crusade. 

When Dean had said he wanted to know more about angels, this wasn’t what he had in mind. The phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’ practically laughed in his face. 

He sipped at the hot coffee in his hands, trying to enjoy a peaceful morning (well it was nearly 11 but give him a break). His dad was at the command center, preparing a meeting and Sam was probably out for his usual morning jog. Ugh, the thought of jogging as a leisure activity made Dean physically sick. Sure he worked on his stamina in training as he didn’t want to run next to Sam like a panting dog, but to say that he enjoyed it was far from true. 

Dean was just reflecting on how much he hated running when Sam stepped through the door. His hair was kept out of his face by one of those eighties-looking headbands and Dean couldn’t help but laugh. 

After an argument where Sam refused to accept that he looked like an Olivia Newton-John video clip (shut up), he went up to take a shower, leaving Dean grinning behind his coffee. 

Well, that was until Sam came back downstairs later to start his, by now, question routine. Dean was having none of it and tried to ignore him by humming the lyrics to ‘physical’, but that only bought him a few minutes. 

“I wish you’d just talk to me, Dean.” Sam’s voice carried that same concerned tone that it often did, it made Dean want to punch him in the face. 

“Yeah and I wish you’d shut up, but we don’t always get what we want.”

The front door opened. “You boys arguing again?” Bobby stepped into the kitchen.

“No,” Sam and Dean said in unison.

“Good, because I need you boys on the same team. We’ve caught wind of a new lead, a possible angel sighting near lake Lacua.” 

Dean had just taken a big gulp of coffee, which proved to be a bad idea. He nearly choked on the hot liquid, it earned him weird looks from Sam and Bobby.

“That lake is just outside the city,” Sam said, his tone surprised.

 _Really? An angel near the city?_ Dean nervously tapped the coffee mug with his fingers. The last thing he wanted was more mention of angels. _the universe definitely hates me,_ he thought. 

“My point exactly,” Bobby nodded.

“Hold up, why are you telling us this?” Dean asked, hoping they wouldn’t notice the slight panic in his voice. “Dad will be furious if he finds out that we know stuff that got discussed in the meeting.” 

“Better make sure he doesn’t find out then,” Bobby sat down at the table. 

“Wait a minute, Bobby, I thought your meeting was supposed to be until five?” Sam asked. 

Dean shot a glance at his watch, it was exactly a quarter past four. 

“So?” Bobby’s tone definitely held a grudge. 

“So why are you here with us?” Dean asked while pouring his grouchy uncle a cup of coffee. 

“I got kicked out,” Bobby shrugged as he took the cup from Dean. “For telling some douchewad to stick it where the sun don’t shine.” 

Sam and Dean shared a look before they both burst out in laughter. It was no surprise that Bobby had gotten into trouble for using colorful language to give someone a piece of his mind. 

“Please, laugh at my expense,” Bobby said sarcastically, but a small smile on his lips betrayed him.

They laughed even harder when after a while Dean managed to persuade Bobby to tell them his exact words. All three of them were crying with laughter by the third time Dean asked Bobby to repeat himself. 

“Dude you went full Eastwood on the sucker,” Dean said while wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye. 

Bobby’s smile grew wider behind his coffee mug. 

“But what do you think the angel was doing near the lake?” Sam asked.

“Well, they sure as hell ain’t taking a day off for some jet skiing.” Bobby

“You think they’re watching the city,” Dean stated. 

“Wouldn’t you if they shoved your boss away in a cell?” Bobby

They talked about the angels until they heard John’s truck pull up in the driveway. They quickly changed the subject to Bobby's new car.

When they were younger these family dinners happened about once a week. Now that time was more scarce it happened more like once every six months. But Ellen had pushed and everyone knew better than to say no to her. 

By the time dinner was ready, Dean’s stomach was growling so loud it was almost painful. Despite the awkward air between Bobby and John, dinner was actually enjoyable. Ellen had prepared roast chicken with all the side dishes a person could dream of, it was probably way too much food but Dean would never be the one to complain. For the first time in weeks, Dean felt able to relax, putting aside his worries for at least a little bit. He laughed when Jo tried to comb through Sam’s hair with her fork, in her defense his brother could do with a haircut. 

Dean took a sip of his beer and looked to the other end of the table, where the ‘adults’ were discussing the meeting in hushed voices. Dean rolled his eyes, it was ridiculous to him that the meetings could only be attended by the older and higher ranked hunters. If the city was in danger they needed every hunter to be on the lookout for signs of an attack. 

“Well, I think it’s about time someone stood up for what they believe in,” Ellen smiled at Bobby who suddenly seemed very busy with shoving around the peas on his plate, a small blush seemed to appear under his beard. 

Dean about choked on the piece of chicken in his mouth... _What the hell,_ he thought. He looked over at his brother who was giving him the classic Sam face for “I have no idea”. He would definitely have to ask Bobby about this later. 

After dinner, and a few more beers, Dean excused himself by telling his family he wanted to go to bed early so he could get up early in the morning to train. It earned him a few confused looks but he didn’t pay any attention to them, trying to give them a convincing yawn on his way out. 

While the dinner had certainly taken his mind off things, the (one too many) beers he had provided him with fabricated courage. He had to talk to Castiel again, he needed to know the truth. Dean had about enough of guessing. The strange angel sighting near the city, the unexplainable healing, the mysterious light that haunted his dreams (okay so maybe he did remember his dream). He had to know more and he had to know _now._

Dean made sure to walk deep into the forest, far away from patrols, before he started shouting. The last thing he needed was to be seen talking to an angel, good luck explaining that one to his dad and commander Barnes. 

“Castiel,” Dean called out into the cold air. Calling out a name to someone who wasn’t even within sight would never feel normal. Dean shivered as the wind brushed his shoulders, he should have brought a coat. 

There was no reply. 

_Good_ , Dean thought. This plan had been a stupid idea anyway, and that was a massive understatement.

He turned around and before he could take another step Castiel appeared right in front of him, causing him to jump. 

“Gah- One of these days my heart is just gonna give out,” Dean muttered under his breath, his hand clutched at his chest. It might have been a good thing that he was slightly drunk, otherwise, he would have probably tucked tail and ran. 

“Dean,” the angel spoke. “How is your leg?” 

“My leg is fine, thanks to your angel Neosporin,” Dean tried nonchalantly 

“Why did you call me here?” The angel seemed apprehensive. 

_That’s a good question_ , Dean thought. His plan to ask Castiel about all his burning questions seemed fucking laughable all of a sudden. However, calling the angel here to say nothing at all was even more idiotic.

Right, he should say something. 

“Hunters spotted an angel near lake Lacua two days ago,” Dean decided what the hell, what did he have to lose. “Was that you?” 

“Is that why you wanted to talk to me?” Castiel’s face carried an expression that Dean couldn’t quite read, was it relief? 

Dean felt his face heat up. “What else would we talk about?” 

“I thought you might want me to heal someone again,” the angel’s tone was flat again. 

“No,” Dean laughed, why did he laugh?! “Just thought I’d ask if you’ve been going near the city again.” 

“It wasn’t me at the lake, I haven’t visited lake Lacua in months.” 

“Cool, I’m just letting you know they won’t hesitate to attack if you were. Not that I care,” Dean definitely didn’t care. 

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” the angel appeared affronted. 

So angels _are_ able to experience some type of emotion, Dean smirked.

“I just thought I’d let you know, because you saved me and all. The whole an eye for an eye thing,” Dean couldn’t look at the angel as he spoke. 

“You haven’t brought me an eye, nor have I given you one.”

“Figure of speech,” Dean uttered. He felt more awkward about mentioning the whole ordeal by the second. 

The angel let out a small “oh,” and his demeanor changed back to his usual self again. “I didn’t save you so that you would have to save me in return.” 

“But you did save me,” Dean was still very intrigued by a broken branch near his shoes. “More than once, didn’t you?” 

The angel shuffled on his feet and Dean finally dared to look up, if he didn’t know any better he’d say the angel looked uncomfortable. 

“I remember seeing a bright light after every time I was badly injured, and then waking up perfectly fine apart from my memory. I saw the same light when you were healing Sam. I mean I was just guessing before, but it really was you, wasn’t it?”

Castiel looked like a deer caught in headlights and Dean was starting to feel somewhat bad for him, wait no he wasn’t. All he wanted was for the angel to answer his question. 

“Answer me,” Dean pressed. He had to know what had haunted him all these years. “Hey,” he snapped his fingers and the angel’s bright blue eyes finally met his own. 

“Darkness is not the opposite of light, Dean.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? 

“So what, you’re some kind of hippie angel now? What does that even mean?” Dean tried to deny the uneasy feeling that was rising in his stomach. 

Castiel sighed and his burning eyes looked tired for just a split second. “It means that not everything is the way it appears to be.” 

“Being a little less cryptic would be too hard, huh?” Dean rolled his eyes. Communication was definitely something that angels could work on. 

“I can’t make you understand,” Castiel said and within seconds he had vanished into thin air. 

“Oh come on! You son of a bitch.” Dean kicked the nearest object in his range and scolded again when the object turned out to be solid rock. 

* * *

Once again Castiel found himself surrounded by nature, however this time he wasn’t standing in a tropical forest. The coordinates he had received led to Motoa, a remote location in Tibet surrounded by nothing but mountains and rivers. The sky was beautifully decorated by all shapes of clouds and Castiel wondered for a moment why he didn’t come to places like this more often.

“Hey there, little bro.” A voice snapped him out of his thoughts and it didn’t belong to Uriel.

“Wait you’re not-,

“Who you were expecting.” Gabriel interrupted. “Sorry to disappoint Castiel, but one can never be careful enough these days you see.”

“That explains the remote location,” Cas answered dryly.

“Exactly,” Gabriel smiled. “Beautiful isn’t it? You’d think daddy really put his time into this one but then he also invented threesomes so who am I to guess.” He looked off into the distance for a second as if he was reliving an old memory. “ Anyway, I’ve been informed that you are under direct orders from Metatron.”

“Well actually I report to Uriel,” Castiel said blandly, he had no idea why his brother had tricked him into coming here, with Gabriel this was normally never a good thing. 

“Ah yes, his little pet,” Gabriel smiled as if he was remembering something. “Did you know Metatron makes him wear a collar?”

“Really?” Castiel couldn’t picture his superior with one of those spiky dog collars he had once seen on a human in a weird leather and whip gathering. 

“No,” Gabriel laughed. “But wouldn’t that be funny? Sure wouldn’t surprise me.” 

“What is the point of this Gabriel?” Castiel asked impatiently.

“That’s what I like about you Castiel, always straight to business.” 

Castiel didn’t reply.

“So as you may have heard, Michael is still locked away in the city of losers and Metatron has made exactly zero effort to free him so I did a little digging and I discovered that he spends a lot of time sneaking around with Uriel. Now either they’re in some distasteful love affair or they’re up to something, and I’m honestly praying for the latter.”

“No Uriel has never expressed desire towards Metatron,” Castiel said. 

“Speaking of distasteful affairs, I also learned about your little human rendezvous,” Gabriel’s face looked smug. 

“What are you talking about?” Castiel tried hard to pretend he didn’t know what the other angel was referring to. 

“Come on, don’t play dumb with me, _Cas”_ Gabriel winked at his brother. “How about you open up to your big brother and then afterward we can figure out what that dick Metatron is up to.” 

* * *

Wiping away the sweat on his face, Dean sat down in the grass after he had been training all morning. The injury to his leg had definitely set him back, his stamina was nowhere near where it used to be. However it felt good to be back on the field, it was like he could finally breathe again. Dean found that if he focused on his training he was able to forget about all the angel crap that kept him up at night, for a little while everything felt back to normal. 

It was 2 pm by the time Dean finished training, but there wasn’t a single part of him that wanted to go home already. It wasn’t often that John was home instead of working on a case. Dean knew that his dad didn’t like being stuck at home and he always ended up taking it out on Dean. However, his dad had been so busy with the recent angel case that work outside of the walls had to wait. 

Dean picked up his bag and considered staying in the Echo zone until he knew his dad would be away from home. But that meant running into more hunters on the training field and he had just successfully managed to evade Garth, a hunter with a tendency to talk way too much. 

Part of him felt bad for leaving Sam alone all day, but knowing his little brother he would probably spend the day at Ellen’s anyway. He briefly considered going over to The Roadhouse to kill some time at the bar, but nearly everyone in the city had caught wind of his run-in with the werewolves and they were all buzzing to ask questions. The thought of having to keep retelling the lie he had been telling his brother and father made him feel sick.

So instead he took a quick shower and made his way to the old outpost cabins, where he would be far away from prying eyes. 

Dean threw his bag down as he looked over at the couch, a quick nap wouldn’t hurt. He sat down to untie his shoes and winced as the blisters on his feet throbbed painfully. He would definitely have to get some new shoes whenever he’d have a chance at free time. 

He settled down on the couch, it wasn’t the first time he had fled to the now unused outpost cabins. Whenever he had been in a fight with his dad this was always a good place to escape the snide comments that were bound to come his way if he stayed at home. 

Dean closed his eyes, trying to push aside the memories as he dozed off. In his dream the sky was blue and a soft breeze played with the branches of the trees that surrounded lake Lacua. The lake reflected the blues and greens of the mountains while sun rays created a glimmer over the water. 

A figure appeared next to him.

“Hello, Dean.” 

“Cas?” Dean felt a strong urge to rub his eyes. “Am I dreaming?’

“Yes,” Castiel seemed worried, like he was expecting someone to jump out at them any minute. “Like you said I have to be more careful now that the hunters are sending out extra patrols.”

“Wait if I'm dreaming, that means- why the hell are you in my head?” Dean panicked, what if Cas was able to read his thoughts while they were in his dream. What if he was able to hear that Dean couldn’t stop thinking about the way Castiel had healed him or worse what if he knew about that one-time in- _shut upppppp_. 

“I’m here to warn you,” Castiel said in a low voice. He definitely seemed more uneasy than Dean had ever seen him before.

“About what?” Dean couldn’t hide his surprise, why would an angel warn him about anything? 

“Angels are after your family, 

“What? Why?” Now it was Dean’s turn to feel worried. 

“I can’t tell you that,” Castiel's expression closed up. 

Dean had to do everything in his power to stop himself from punching the angel in the face right then and there.

“Listen up you douchebag, you can’t just drop a bomb like that and expect me not to ask questions.”

"I can’t answer your questions, because I am not allowed to share anything with a mortal being."  
  
"Then why tell me anything in the-"  
  
"Be quiet."  
  
Dean raised his eyebrows, what the hell was Castiel‘s problem?  
  
"You should close your eyes," the angel ordered.  
  
"I'm not sure I want to, no offense but-"  
  
"Close your eyes, Dean." 

There was that impatient tone again. Castiel had cut him off for the second time, man, this guy didn't have a shred of patience. Dean contemplated peeking, but somehow he had the feeling the angel would be able to tell.  
  
"Don’t," the angel ordered.  
  
"I didn't even-" Dean lifted his eyebrows but decided there was no use in arguing.  
  
A warm hand touched his shoulder, and he had to refrain himself from flinching.  
  
Even with his eyes closed, he could still notice that there was a bright light in front of them. Actually, it was heading towards them... Dean had to press his arm over his closed eyes because even like this, it was extremely painful.  
  
"You can open them now."  
  
"What _was_ that?" Dean asked, he had been curious about that bright light since he’d first seen it.  
  
"Whenever an angel uses their... power, we have to use our grace, as a power source if you will.  
  
"And that "grace" happens to look like the fucking sun?" Dean asked once he collected his wits.  
  
"No, the sun is a burning ball of fire. Our grace consists of a completely different material."  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, he got the feeling the angel would never understand sarcasm.  
  
"Anyway," Dean frowned. "What did you do? I mean, we're still standing in the exact same spot."  
  
Castiel didn't look at him, he seemed to focus on something in the distance. And just when Dean wanted to ask about it, he spoke.  
  
"Really open your eyes."  
  
This caught Dean off guard, he had opened his eyes minutes ago. Why was Castiel speaking in riddles? But he felt as if he couldn't ask more questions without coming off as stupid, so he blinked a few times. But it wasn't until he followed Castiel's gaze that it happened.  
  
"What the..." Dean gasped for air.  
  
How he hadn't noticed before was ludicrous, and so not important right now. They were still standing in the exact same spot, Dean had been right about that much. But the busy streets, the cabins, and the high concrete walls that surrounded the city, they were gone...  
  
"How did you-, where is-" Dean couldn't finish one question before the next rolled off his tongue.  
  
He tried to step forward, but a strong hand slammed against his chest and stopped him.  
  
"Don't." Castiel's strict voice ordered.  
  
Dean looked at Castiel with an expression of caution mixed with awe. The angel seemed emotionless, apart from his eyes that squinted ever so slightly, but they relaxed again when he spoke.  
  
"You can't move, it's not safe."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because this isn't real."  
  
"Could you stop being so damn cryptic?" Dean said and the impatience came from his part this time.  
  
"What you're seeing is a memory, if you will. It's what your city once looked like before the humans settled here."  
  
Dean had to remind himself to keep his jaw closed. 

"Cas if this is a memory... whose memory is it?"  
  
The angel frowned for a split second, it was one of those rare moments where Dean could see a trace of emotion on his face.  
  
"Mine," he simply stated as if it was obvious.  
  
"You have memories from before this place was even, this place?"  
  
"Yes," there was not even a hint of pride or boastfulness in Castiel’s voice.  
  
However, Dean felt more impressed than he would ever admit to. Angels might be dicks, but this was awesome. 

“That’s… something.” Dean didn’t know what to say, because really, what was there to say? What do you say to someone who is older than anything you have ever touched, or maybe even heard of? 

The angel seemed lost in thought as his gaze wandered over the space of land. 

“Wait, why are you showing me this?” Dean had been so fascinated by the sight in front of him that he hadn’t questioned the reason behind the angel’s little rendition of Outlander. 

“I’m not sure,” Castiel’s brow furrowed. “You don’t trust me, I thought maybe this would help.”

 _What does an angel want with my trust_? Dean wanted to voice his suspicion, he wanted to threaten Castiel and make the angel spill every secret it was holding onto. 

Dean could feel the angel’s eyes on him. He looked up to see Castiel’s face doing that thing again where he slightly squinted his eyes as if it would help him think. And Dean realized he couldn’t do it, he wasn’t strong enough to hold a grudge against his enemy, and he hated himself for it. 

“Dean?” Castiel spoke hesitantly, his eyes still scanning Dean’s face... 

“Tell me more?” 

“Okay,” Castiel seemed slightly taken aback by Dean’s request. “Well I remember this place,” the angel’s breath hitched ever so lightly. “This is where I completed my training, every angel in my garrison completed training here, on this exact field. 

Dean whistled, he couldn’t imagine so many angels being in one place at the same time. “Wait, what kind of training do angels need?” 

Castiel went rigid next to him, “I can’t tell you that.” 

“Right,” Dean sighed. “Angel secrets.” Damn angels and their strict policies, maybe next training should be to get the sticks out of their asses. Dean had never quite understood why a lot of their books on angels could only be accessed by higher ranks. It was supposedly dangerous information, did this mean angels would kill anyone who obtained information about them?

“Does this annoy you?” Castiel asked.

“Hm?” Dean’s thoughts were interrupted. “Well obviously, I want to know more, but I guess you can’t.”

“I really can’t,” it was as if Castiel tried to convince himself rather than Dean.

“I know.” Dean could feel himself grow just a little compassionate towards the angel, and that was in no fucking way acceptable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely the longest chapter so far! I struggled a lot this week trying to get everything right in this chapter, maybe I'm just too much of a perfectionist, who knows. I hope you liked this chapter and that it gives you some more insight into what's about to happen next to our favorite dumbasses. I will most probably go back and edit this chapter later this week because I feel some things could be done better. Anway! Enough about me, all I can hope for is that you enjoyed chapter five :)


	6. Chapter 6

It was always busy at Harvelle’s Roadhouse. Although the sight of it would make you think the 1800s haven’t passed yet, with wooden planks and corrugated iron seemingly being the only building materials used for the interior. Though you couldn’t find a single hunter who would complain about it. After all, this was one of the few spots a hunter could put his feet up after a long day of hunting monsters. That was a figure of speech of course because Ellen would kill said hunter were he actually to put his feet on a table. 

The Roadhouse also functioned as a networking place, where hunters discussed their missions and requested help from others. But it was mostly a place to get drunk and play pool, which was music to the ears of Dean Winchester.

Dean sat down on a stool next to his brother after winning a game of pool, a big grin on his face.

“And _that_ is how you win a game of pool, Sammy.” Dean waved a small stack of cash in front of his brother’s face. 

“Yeah, it’s called hustling,” Sam laughed. “I can’t believe Lucas fell for that, most people know better than to play any game against you.” 

Dean took a swig from the bottle in front of him, “Hey, not my fault they fall for my doe eyes.” He turned to his brother and blinked rapidly. 

Sam rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculous brother.

“So what are you up to these days, Sammy? I feel like I barely get to spend time with you.” 

Sam’s forehead creased, “yeah that’s because you’ve been avoiding me,” he huffed. 

“Alright, fair,” Dean put down the bottle of beer. “Though I wouldn’t say I’m avoiding you, I prefer the term safekeeping my sanity.” 

“Yeah, really mature,” Sam snatched the beer bottle away from Dean. “And that was my beer,” he smiled sarcastically.

Dean raised his eyebrows, his younger brother had a point though. God, why did it feel like everyone around him always had a goddamn point these days?

He could feel his brother's eyes on him, but what could he say? There was no way Dean could explain the way they both got healed without involving the supernatural. And Sam had never bought Dean’s explanation of ‘being there just in time’ in the first place. The worst part of it all was that he didn’t know who he was protecting by keeping the truth to himself, if he was protecting Sam or Castiel. 

“You’re never going to tell me what really happened, are you?” Sam didn’t look at him.

“No, I don’t know,” Dean struggled to find an answer. 

“Alright,” Sam shrugged. “Then I won’t ask again,” his face didn’t show any signs that he felt angry. 

“What?” Dean asked in surprise. 

“Dean, I’m not blind, you’re obviously keeping something from me,” Sam looked at him. “But I also know you would never lie to me unless you thought it was necessary.” 

_Did Sam just really say that? Was he dreaming? Yup, he had to be dreaming._

“Dean you look like you’re having a stroke,” Sam’s face held that half-amused, half-mocking grin and Dean realized he wasn’t dreaming after all. 

“Wow, I mean I’m just confused. Sam Winchester will stop asking questions, wonders never cease to exist,” Dean grinned. 

“Yeah, well don’t get used to it,” Sam huffed.

For the first time in weeks, Dean fell asleep without too much trouble. Sure he was on his fourth round of counting sheep (shut up) but this time the worry didn’t take over his brain. He felt relieved that he spent the rest of the night actually having a good time, without having to avoid Sam’s questions. 

His eyelids grew heavier by the second and he dozed off into a pretty calm night's sleep. 

Once again Dean found himself surrounded by tall trees and still water. At first, he wasn’t sure if he was actually asleep, but the forest seemed too peaceful to be real. 

Not many seconds later a figure appeared. 

Castiel greeted him with a small nod, the material of his clothing reflected in the bright sunlight. For a second Dean wondered what the material could be, since it doesn’t look stiff yet it resembled the texture of tiny linked metal rings. 

“Hello, Dean,” there was almost a familiarity in the way Castiel said it, Dean refused to notice it. 

“Hey Cas, what’s up?” 

Dean kicked at one of the small rocks near his feet, the whole appearing in his dream thing was still kinda freaking him out, but he didn’t want to think about it in case Castiel _was_ able to read his thoughts. 

“I’m here,” there was a small pause where the angel’s lips tightened, “because I need your help.”

Dean frowned, “whoa, why do angels need my help?”. 

“One of my brothers questions the loyalty of our current leader,” Castiel spoke quietly. 

“And you trust this brother of yours?” Dean asked. He didn’t know if he felt completely comfortable discussing the current state of Heaven and its minions. 

“Yes, he is one of the few angels I would trust with my life,” Castiel said as if he had just mentioned something casual. 

“I don’t know man, I mean helping out angels so they can go back to having family brunches isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” Dean scowled. 

“This concerns more than our family relations, Dean. This concerns everyone in Heaven, your city, and maybe even beyond that.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“My brother thinks that our leader is hiding a weapon, one that can destroy your entire city.”

“But we’ve got Michael trapped in there,” he felt awkward talking about Michael, the angel _they_ trapped in their city. “He’s willing to risk hurting his own family?”

“We’re not sure he means to save him,” Castiel’s forehead creased and his mind seemed to be lost somewhere else. 

“What?” Dean asked in disbelief. 

“Either he wants to attack your city to free Michael, or he wants to destroy your city without freeing Michael so that he’ll be in charge permanently.” 

What the fuck? Angels attacking other angels _and_ humans. 

“Oh that’s super, you’re saying, either way, we end up like exterminated bugs? No that’s great, thanks for the heads up.” Dean rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t want this any more than you do,” Castiel said, his voice earnest.

“Really?” Dean asked. “Because last time I checked angels were a bunch of arrogant dicks.”

Castiel turned to him, his expression was almost angry. “I’ve healed you countless times, I’ve healed your brother and now I’m giving you information that could get me killed within seconds, you should show me some respect.” 

Dean was quiet for a second, there was that voice of reason again. 

“Fine, let’s say I believe you.” Dean could barely grasp he was considering this. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to come with me to Welldale to look for something,” Castiel said.

“Look for what?” Dean’s eyebrows rose, what could they possibly be looking for? And how would an angel be able to walk into Welldale anyway? 

“I can’t tell you that,” 

“Look, if you want my help, you’re gonna have to do a little more sharing here,” 

“I can’t tell you,” the angel’s eyes bore into his, “because I don’t know.” 

“What?” Dean wanted to walk out of there, but where could you go in your own dream? 

“My brother has been following our leader and he appears to visit the same building in Welldale frequently, we figured he’s hiding something in there.”

Dean wondered why angels would have to hide something in the first place and he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to find out. 

“And how are we going to do that? You can't just march into town, you’re basically a poster boy for angels.”

“This isn’t my first mission, Dean. I know how to blend in.” 

“Alright, sure,” Dean had about enough of the angel’s attitude. “Where do you wanna meet?”

“Meet me at the car park just outside Welldale in three hours.” 

The angel disappeared and within seconds Dean was awake. 

Groaning Dean checked the alarm clock next to his bed, it was 9 am. Dean dropped his head back into his pillow, wondering why he felt like he had barely slept at all. 

After a quick breakfast and a short text to Sam, explaining why he wasn’t at training today (he was running a car parts errand for Bobby) Dean made his way to the edge of Welldale. 

He waited in his car until it was exactly 12 pm. He cut off the engine, and with it the Rolling Stones hit. When stepped out of the impala he looked around for Castiel. 

It took Dean a few scans of the abandoned road before he could see anyone. The tall trees lined the asphalt made it hard to see someone appear (from somewhere?). Dean looked down at his watch to see if he’d checked the time correctly but when he looked up the angel already stood next to his car. 

He glanced at Castiel, who didn’t look anything like his normal self. 

And Dean had to try everything in his power not to laugh (he failed miserably). Castiel was definitely wearing human clothes, hell he was even wearing the typical hunters’ get-up; flannel, cargo pants, and a long coat that lacked any imaginative color. He’d done well in that department, however, he was wearing two shirts on top of each other, a baseball hat, and boots that looked like they belonged in a show window at Hot Topic. 

All the while Castiel stood staring at him like he was afraid Dean was going to collapse. Dean finally managed to pull himself together, but not without having to wipe away a few tears from his eyes. 

“Cas, I think you went a little overboard here,” Dean said as he gestured to the layers of clothing. 

“I studied the men in your city, they all seem to wear these things,” Castiel raised his eyebrows. 

“Yes, but usually we layer responsibly,” Dean chuckled. 

Castiel looked down at the clothes, fidgeting with the sleeves of the flannel. And if Dean didn’t know any better he’d say Cas looked slightly embarrassed, he (almost) started to feel kinda bad for the guy. 

“Wait, I think I’ve got some spare clothes in the back of my car.” Dean walked to the back of the impala and opened her trunk, true to his word, a pile of spare clothes lay in the back. 

He settled on jeans, a white shirt, and his old leather jacket. Cas could wear one of the flannel shirts he had brought and voila; hunter approved. 

He decided to leave the boots though, because he couldn’t deny that Cas kinda pulled them off. 

Dean handed the clothes to Castiel, who eyed the clothes apprehensively. 

“They’re not gonna bite you,” Dean said as the angel had been staring at them for nearly a good minute. 

“That’s ridiculous, I know clothes don’t have teeth,” Castiel said, but his voice wasn’t nearly as witty as before, and he refused to look at Dean.

Castiel then vanished and reappeared just seconds later, wearing his new get-up.   
  
The jeans were just slightly too long on him, but the white shirt fit tight around his chest. Dean smiled proudly, _suck it, Sam, I am good at this._ The leather jacket was hanging loosely over his shoulder but overall Cas (and by Cas he meant the clothes) looked pretty good, really good actually. 

Not that there was anything wrong with appreciating the physical appearance of another man. Well, except for the fact that Cas wasn’t really a man, was he? Then it would make sense for Dean to be impressed by an angel, wouldn’t it? They were described as great celestial beings after all, and actually, it would just be rude not to appreciate their appearance and-

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice brought him back to the present. 

“Hm? What?” Dean looked up. 

“I asked if I look more representative of your hunter community now.”

 _Stop staring at the angel_ , Dean collected his wits. 

“Are you kidding me? You look like the Michael Corleone of hunters.” That was a compliment aimed at himself, FYI. 

“I don’t know who that is,” Castiel admitted _._ “But having studied your facial expressions this looks like a positive affirmation.” 

Dean wanted to ask the angel what he meant by ‘studying expressions’, but never got to. Instead, his eyes were drawn to Castiel’s lips, they had turned into a smile, he looked proud of himself. And Dean’s heart made an involuntary little jump. 

He had never seen the angel smile before and he had to admit it was strange but in a good way? Every time he discovered a new trace of emotion it was hard to remember that he was talking to a celestial being, who was supposed to be his sworn enemy.

Dean had to stop staring at this dude's lips. He cleared his throat. 

“So, where to?” he asked.

“I was told that what we’re looking for is probably hidden away in this town,” 

“I love it when you talk specific to me, Cas,” Dean rolled his eyes. He felt like he was in a bad episode of Law & Order. 

“Would you rather I tell you everything and then kill you?” Castiel glared at him. 

_Ah guess we’re back to snarky again,_ Dean thought. 

“Lead the way then, Hutch,” he gestured with his arm. 

“We’ll have to walk, the less we draw attention to ourselves the better,” Castiel said.

Dean glanced around to make sure baby was safe in the small parking lot at the side of the road, and then they made their way to the town. 

Upon entering Welldale, Dean started navigating his way through the familiar streets. The main road of the town was nothing special, or least of all suspicious, it had the typical all-American look about it. 

Stores faced the street on both sides of the road that stretched far into the distance. The streets were fairly busy with people flying out of the shops that had already opened their doors to their spend-happy customers. Dean had to hold back his laughter as they nearly knocked over Castiel on a few occasions, who didn’t seem used to the busy streets. 

Castiel had told Dean that the place they were looking for was on Chapel street and that it was located near the town center. Would their leader really be hiding something in a church or would it be smarter than that? As they made their way through town, Dean couldn’t help but wonder what angels had to physically hide anyway. 

And unlike what the name of the street indicated, it wasn’t a family-friendly neighborhood or even a chapel to match the name for that matter. Ironically enough, the street functioned as the center of nightlife. Bars and clubs surrounded what could better be called a town square. Dean’s eyes immediately recognized the purple-lit building on the far right end of the street, it was a sight he was no stranger to. 

"So which place do we pay a visit?’’ Dean asked Cas with a hopeful tone to his voice.

"My informant told me it was on 39th Chapel street’’, Cas answered while his gaze searched the street for numbers.

As they were walking towards the end of the street Dean immediately noticed that the purple-lit building matched the address Cas was referring to. 

“Huh, guess your leader has more style than I gave him credit for,” Dean smirked as he read the neon sign above the club. “Alright, The Shady Lady, now this is a case I can get behind.” 

“I don’t understand, what could a powerful angel want in a place of sin and iniquity?” Castiel looked somewhat uncomfortable as he followed after Dean.

“Are you kidding me?” Dean laughed. “I mean booze, naked women, what else could a guy need for a good time?” 

Castiel’s face went blank, but Dean could definitely see a flicker of emotion behind his eyes. 

“Wait, you guys do actually, you know? Do the devil's tango?” Dean raised his eyebrows. 

“Sometimes yes, though not all of us have had the occasion.” The angel’s eyes darted to look anywhere but at Dean. 

Dean’s eyebrows nearly shot off his damn forehead, “you mean to tell me that you’re still a virgin?” 

Castiel’s face flushed and a hand shot up to rub his neck, Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen the angel look more human. 

There was a silent moment where neither met the other’s gaze. 

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Dean backtracked, feeling slightly guilty for making Cas feel embarrassed for the second time today. 

“Can we just focus on the mission?” Castiel asked, his tone clearly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, let’s find out what sinful leader of yours has to hide,” Dean laughed.

The inside of the club resembled the cheap exterior and tacky name perfectly. The walls were lit by bright pink and deep blue lights, giving it a nostalgic look that made Dean feel right at home. Heavy bass music, the kind that makes your heart jump, drowned out the light chatter of the few visitors that sat at the tables on both sides of the room. It was still early so the place wasn’t nearly as packed as it could have been, but still, a few middle-aged guys sat around, submissively throwing ones on stage, and avoiding eye contact with any other soul in there. Most of them looked like they had families to return to, a wife waiting at home while their high school sweethearts wasted their money away on a depressingly younger girl, old enough to parade around in her underwear for money, but still looking young enough to be their daughter's friend from school.

A few stripper poles were flanking the stage in the middle of the room where two of these young women, scarcely dressed, were chatting to a few interested customers. The third one on stage, grabbing to the pole for dear life, wearing nothing but a skimpy nurse outfit, that seemed right from the kid’s Halloween costume section at Walmart. While Dean’s eyes made their way from her chest to her bare legs, enjoying the sight, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was an 8-year-old at home, waiting for her mom to be back from work, in the costume she’d worn to go trick-or-treating. Shaking that disheartening thought from the back of his mind, they made their way over to the bar, where a male bartender was busy cleaning drinkware. Dean noticed he wore a tight black t-shirt that clung to his sweaty body too tightly, laying flat against his biceps and a pair of denim washed-out jeans, as he looked the odd pair up and down.

“Private rooms are 100 dollars an hour, and to dance for both of you at the same time it’ll be an extra 50.” The bartender recited bluntly “No touching without the girl’s permission, and no kissing them. Whatever you ‘wanna do between yourselves has to be in the backrooms, got it?”

Dean’s face felt like the AC had turned up 50 degrees as he fumbled to get words out “We’re not –“ he tried to play it cool, like he didn’t almost gag on his own saliva, _man_ why did he feel so tense? “We don’t need the back-“ He sighed, taking a breath. “We’re working man, okay?”

The bartender apologized, and Dean looked at Castiel from the corner of his eye, trying to check if the angel looked anywhere as self-conscious as he did. He didn’t. Castiel looked completely unphased by this awkward interaction, eyes slightly squinting as if trying to understand the social dynamics at play. _Stop staring_ dean shook his head discreetly.

After a short interrogation, and 50 bucks from Dean’s wallet, they were on their way to one of the private rooms downstairs. Castiel had described his leader to the bartender who, after the money, seemed to know who he was talking about “Oh, short guy, in need of a shave, who is a terrible tipper?” so he directed them to room 11. 

So here they were, an angel and a human in a sex club, about to enter private room 11. If Dean wasn’t so uncomfortable, he would make a joke about this being an intro to bad porn, he could practically feel Sam’s aversion to this joke. 

When Dean opened the door it was everything he had expected it to be. A large leather couch framed three of the velvet-covered walls and in the middle was another pole. The ceiling was decorated with large mirrors and a disco ball, and the lighting made the room glow red, Dean smirked at the sight. 

“Did you know,” Dean started, in a fun fact kind of voice, “that they don’t really turn on the poles? They do that on their own!” He was positively satisfied with his fact, grinning at Cas, who didn’t seem to enjoy or understand what he was talking about, to Dean’s disappointment. In fact, the angel looked like he wanted to leave the room as soon as possible. It was slightly funny to Dean how he could go from cutthroat and frightening to a lost puppy within seconds. 

“We should look around the room,” Castiel’s voice was clipped. 

“Yeah, we should probably skip the blacklight, though,” Dean grinned yet again, pleased with his humor, but Castiel ignored him, _rude,_ _Dean found himself thinking._

They started by lifting the couch from the ground, and that thing was heavy. Dean quickly felt the weight of the couch in his arms but tried his hardest not to show it. The last thing he needed was to appear weak next to the celestial being, who only used one hand to hold up the compact, four seats, metal structure, 3-foot long couch. Dean watches as Castiel's hand reached under the couch, his face turned into a grimace as he wiped his hand on his own clothes. 

“Found anything down there?” Dean asked, trying to not sound out of breath, as the weight burned his shoulder blades.

“Nothing” Castiel started to lay down the sofa, promptly followed by Dean, as he tried to clean his fingers on the fabric, fidgeting with it awkwardly hoping that the eyes that seemed to always be cautiously controlling him would not make note of it.

They probably searched the room about four times before they gave up, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Well, nothing apart from a pair of pink lace panties and a locker filled with regular clothes that partly resembled their own. 

Dean was about to ask Cas what else they could be looking for when an attractive woman walked into the room. Dean smiled at her, ready to help her with whatever she came for. It turned out that she wanted them to leave the room because paying customers had rented it for the next hour. Dean’s smile faltered, but quickly reappeared when she invited Cas to stay and he turned beet red. He chuckled at the single thought of Castiel, an angel of the lord _,_ sitting down, busty Asian beauty dancing before him, making him all hot and bothered. 

“C’mon Cas, let’s go” he almost giggled. It sounded like a giggle, didn’t it? Dean mentally slapped himself on the mouth, and that nickname, _he’s an angel, not a puppy, stop giving him a nickname._

* * *

The box wasn’t any old regular prison cell, it was actually a normal room surrounded by four grey walls. There were no windows, no beds or toilets, no metal bars, and only one way in. There was one piece of furniture in the middle of the room, a simple iron chair. It was completely surrounded by hand-painted sigils and heavy iron chains. For years this chair had been empty, unused for the most part, besides a few demons who had only lived to sit in the chair for a few hours. However this time, the iron chair had been occupied by someone for months. 

The archangel Michael was surrounded by large stains of blood, both old and new. His head slumped against his chest, curls matted with blood-covered parts of his face. 

“Are you having fun yet?” a voice echoed through the room. 

“How about you put down the instruments for a little while, it is getting rather dull,” Michael said to his torturer as he moved his head to get a strand of hair out of his face.

If John Winchester felt surprised, he didn’t show it. Instead, he put down the knife and used an old rag to clean the blood off his hands. 

“You’re right, it’s all quite repetitive.” John walked towards the table where various torture devices were displayed. “How about we try something new?” He smirked.

The angel’s demeanor didn’t change, it rarely did. Michael’s expression resembled that of a father at his kids’ terrible soccer game, bored and considerably annoyed. 

“You know there is only one way you will get me to talk, John.” 

This time his words did cause John’s facade to falter, if only for a split second. 

“It is a fair trade, wouldn’t you say? One piece of my information in exchange for the information I want from you.” Michael continued. 

John turned a rusty nail between his thumb and fingers as if he was inspecting it. 

“Alright, you will tell me exactly what I want to know and in exchange, I will tell you about Dean,” John said.

* * *

Still laughing, Dean walked out of the club followed by Castiel, but karma must have been out for him because the moment they were outside he saw a familiar face. Her blonde hair reflected in the sunlight and caught Dean’s eye, he recognized her clothes immediately. 

_Turn around, please don’t see me, please don’t_ see _us_ , Dean thought. At that exact moment, she turned around and her face turned into a smile of recognition, _shit_. 

“Jo! What are you doing here?” Dean called out, knowing it would look worse if he turned around right now. 

She walked over to them, “I’m just grabbing a few things from the store, The Roadhouse was running low on pickles,” she answered. 

_Fucking pickles._

“Where would the Roadhouse be without pickles?” Dean joked, earning a look from Castiel. 

“Who’s your friend?” Jo asked, smiling at them. 

_don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t say something stupid._

“Uh Jo, this is Cas-….per” 

_okay, yeah, that was stupid._ Dean mentally hit himself. 

Castiel didn’t move so he jabbed the angel with his elbow.

“Yes, my name is Casper,” Cas said after a quick disapproving look aimed at Dean. 

“I just call him Cas for short,” Dean tried to laugh it off.

“Nice to meet you, Cas.” Jo stuck out her hand. “I’m Jo,” her blue eyes lit up. 

The angel stared at the extended hand for a few seconds before shaking it (a little too long). He looked pleased with himself and Dean would call it endearing ( _maybe?_ ) if he wasn’t shitting himself right now, they really had to get away from her fast.

“Dean, I didn’t know you had hunter contacts outside of the city?” Jo asked, her smile was a little too smug and Dean had never wanted to get away from her faster.

“Yeah, Bobby sent me to talk to him.” 

“Oh, he did?” Jo definitely knew he was lying.

It didn’t help that Castiel was just standing there wearing Dean’s clothes, for fucks sake.

“Yes, look Jo it was great running into you but we really have to go.” Dean tried to find a quick end to this really unwanted encounter. 

Jo nodded, “yes of course,” her smile grew wider. “It was great meeting you, Cas.”

“It was great meeting you, too.” Cas smiled at her and Dean couldn’t stop his eyebrows raising. He had never seen Castiel be polite to anyone, let alone see him smile at someone he didn’t even know. 

“Bye, Dean,” Jo waved as she walked off in the other direction and before she turned around the corner Dean could have sworn she winked at him. This girl really had some nerve. 

“She seems nice,” Castiel commented and it nearly gave Dean whiplash as he turned around. 

Did Castiel just call someone nice? 

“Yeah, if you think annoying and know-it-all is a good thing,” Dean huffed.

“You don’t like her then?” Castiel asked, his usual frown in place. 

“Of course I do, she’s family,” Dean said as he physically wiped away the sweat on his forehead, that conversation with Jo was not gonna go well for him later. 

“Anyway, what do you want to do about our little Don Juan? Since we didn’t find anything useful back at the club.”

“I’ll report it to my brother, maybe he can make sense of what we found.” 

“Sounds good to me, in the meantime, I’m starving,” Dean looked down at his painfully growling stomach. “They have some of the best bacon cheeseburgers in this town, so if you need me, you’ll know where to find me.”

“You seem to really enjoy these burgers,” Castiel’s eyes narrowed slightly, a thing Dean recognized he did when he was thinking about something. 

“Are you kidding me, they’re fucking delicious?” Dean smiled. 

“I’ve never understood humans and their need for indulgence.”

“Whoa, wait, heaven doesn’t have unlimited fast food?’” Dean dramatically put his hand over his heart. 

“We’re angels, Dean, we don’t need to eat to survive,” 

“You’re telling me, you’ve never had a burger? or bacon? or _pie_? Cas, tell me you’ve not been living a shitty existence for over a thousand years.”

“No, I haven’t tried those. And I don’t see how food would relate to the contentment in my existence.” Castiel was visibly confused. 

“Well, obviously you would say that, you’ve never tried a Luger Burger.” Dean huffed.

He didn’t know if angels rolled their eyes, but he could have sworn he just saw Castiel do so. Dean raised his eyebrows, just when he thought the angel couldn’t get more snarky. 

“Well I don’t care what heaven says, but there’s one thing I know for certain, you’re not leaving until you’ve tried a cheeseburger.” Dean playfully patted the angel on the shoulder and regretted it immediately, as he had to dodge a powerful punch coming his way. 

But when he looked up he could see that Castiel was smiling again, actually smiling at something that Dean said. And his heart did another one of those involuntary flutters as he decided that he liked it when the angel smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter this week! I'm trying to stick to uploading every Tuesday, but it's only a matter of time before I miss one as I'm also working on my thesis right now. You might say that this fic is a form of escapism and you would be absolutely right, but it's also causing me more stress haha. I think I'm experiencing imposter syndrome with writing atm, but enough about me, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

This was it, this was the place -  _ the best burgers in the entire state  _ \- Dean had told the angel, who still seemed unconvinced with the idea that burgers, as Dean had put it, could have been the one thing to resolve every major conflict in history. 

Following Dean Winchester through the double doors of the burger joint, Castiel looked puzzled, as if he was still trying to consider Dean’s burger statement. 

Dean, perhaps a bit over excitedly, ordered them both double bacon cheeseburgers with a side of fries. 

“Huh? So what do you think?” Dean asked with about the biggest grin possible on his face, as he watched Castiel take his first bite. 

The corners of Castiel’s mouth twitched and for a second Dean’s smile faltered, but then the angel nodded, and Dean let out a loud “I knew it!”.

“These are very good,” Cas said in between bites of his burger. His eyes closed as to savor the taste of the burger and Dean found it hard to look away from the sight in front of him. With the next bite, a moan escaped Castiel’s lips and it sent hot shivers down Dean’s spine, almost immediately reaching his groin. 

Dean cleared his throat, on the list of things that were not appropriate this was way up there with watching porn at a funeral. After that, he tried hard to focus on anything other than Castiel’s lips or the way his eyes squeezed shut every few bites.

Instead, he looked at the fries on his plate.

When the blonde waitress walked over to their table Dean sighed with relief, at least he could focus his attention elsewhere. She seemed about Sammy’s age and had legs for days. She wore some old keds sneakers that had for sure been bright red someday, but were now only a faded worn-out hue of blood orange. Her smooth legs seemed to go on forever, but actually ended at the hem of a pair of blue shorts, that gave way to a long-sleeved white shirt and an apron, full of oily stains. Her face opened up in a big smile.

“Are you boys all okay over here?” She asked with the phrase ‘please tip me well’ smitten all over her face. 

“Now that you’re here, I actually feel a whole lot better all of the sudden’ ” Dean looked up at her, receiving a blushed giggle in return. Good. The longer she stayed, the more he could avoid dwelling on things he really shouldn’t. “Well, aren’t you gonna tell us your name?”

He winked. Maybe that was too much. Was it? He was overthinking this, _wasn’t he?_ _God,_ why was it that whenever Cas was around he seemed to fail at the most basic of human functions? He was never like this - he was Dean freaking Winchester, he was born flirting with the nurses, or so legend has it -so _why the hell_ was he second-guessing a wink? 

“It’s Amy,” the waitress smirked at Dean. “So you’re okay?” She looked over her shoulder at a grouchy looking dude, probably her boss, and figured she needed to focus her attention back on her work. 

“We appear to be pleasantly replenished. Thank you” Castiel retorted, a bit dryly, Dean noted.

As the waitress nodded, walking back to the counter, Dean’s attention was immediately drawn back to the celestial being who sloppily ate his first ever cheeseburger. It was almost like watching a child experiencing the snow for the first time, Dean couldn’t resist the smile that crept up on his face. 

“What?” Castiel asked as he licked a splotch of mayo from the back of his thumb. “Is there something on my face?”    
Dean laughed, whole-heartedly “What don’t you have on your face?” Cas’s face had bits of mustard and mayo all around his lips, and Dean had to refrain from the weird impulse he had to reach over and wipe it away with his thumb. 

Dean tried to think of something else. Small talk. He could do with some small talk. 

“So if heaven doesn’t serve deep-fried food I’m guessing it doesn’t exactly fit the picture-perfect image that people have created either? Please don’t tell me heaven is only offering memberships to health freaks?” 

“Not exactly,” Castiel seemed to mirror someone in the booth next to them by wiping the corners of his mouth with a paper napkin, which Dean appreciated .  “Heaven is designed to reflect all of the same personal wants and needs you had in life.” 

“So you’re telling me that everyone’s heaven is different?” Dean raised his eyebrows. 

“Yes,” Castiel crumpled the napkin with his hands and a pleased smile appeared on his face as he placed it on top of the empty plate.

“Cas, what does your heaven look like?” Dean didn’t know if this was overstepping but there were so many things he wanted to ask the angel

Castiel’s body tensed but the smile on his lips didn’t disappear, he looked conflicted for a second before he answered. “My corner of heaven is peaceful, there’s a forest of green and there are flowers and honey bees that pollinate them. There’s a lake I saw once in the Azores, I enjoy spending time on a little boat, drifting as I watch the sunset over the Himalayan mountains. And then I wait, looking up at the night sky, naming all the stars I helped my father put up there, until the sun comes up, behind the sand of an infinite landscape of the Sahara. It is infinitely beautiful, the four corners of the world, all in eye’s reach, but there is also infinite quiet.” 

“That sounds amazing,” Dean stated with a small smile, amazed at how right there in front of him sat a being who had all of that, and still sat at a burger joint outside Jefferson City. His brow furrowed just a second after “and lonely.” He ended up saying. He could relate. The feeling of peace, of being alone, no brother bickering, no father to boss him around, no walking on eggshells, afraid to disappoint him… But still, even when he got away, had some time to himself, he always inevitably ended up feeling some type of way, lonely. 

“It can be,” Castiel looked up and his blue eyes met Dean’s. 

For once Dean was certain that he could read the emotion in Castiel’s eyes, it was sadness. And in that moment he couldn’t feel a single ounce of resentment towards the angel. All he felt was compassion and for some strange reason, he knew that there was a mutual understanding between them. Dean had never excelled in expressing his emotions, and that was an understatement. Yet he knew there was nothing he could say that Castiel wasn’t already able to read on his face. He pursed his lips, swallowing in dry, suddenly very aware of his surroundings, having thought of John, his mind drifted to what his dad would say, or better yet, what he would do to Dean if he even caught a whiff of what was going on. Not that anything was going on, he was just having lunch... _ with an angel. _

“Can I get you anything else for today?” Dean nearly jumped out of his skin as the waitress had returned to their table, laying her hand on Dean’s shoulder. He tensed up, as his eyes slowly, almost unwillingly, darted from Castiel’s to the waitress.  _ What was her name again _ ? He hadn’t even noticed her walking up to them. 

“No we’ll just have the check, thanks,” he smiled at her hurriedly, trying to revert back to the conversation they were having, but it was over, the moment was gone.

Dean reached for the last sip of beer, as he sighed, moving his shoulders and neck a little, as he realized they had been tensed up, at the exact same time that Castiel spoke. 

“You know, she wants to engage in sexual intercourse with you,” his expression was blank and his voice that low tone of his, raspy and enunciating every word.

Dean inhaled his beer, the liquid slipping down the wrong pipe. Gasping for air he looked around to make sure nobody else had heard what Castiel just said. 

“You can’t just say stuff like that,” Dean said with a hoarse voice from coughing. 

There was that slight head tilt again, Castiel’s face straight and his eyes almost unblinking, staring at Dean, who would have thought it was almost kind of endearing had he not been occupied with almost choking. 

“Am I not supposed to talk about the way her pheromones-”

“No! No talking about pheromones, period.” 

Dean coughed again, whether it was from the beer or sheer awkwardness was up for interpretation. 

“So,” He tried to change the topic of the conversation, and curiosity having the best of him, he probed a little deeper, “Anything else that you’ve never tried?”

“What do you mean?” Castiel’s head tilted once more, ever so slightly. 

“Well, you had never tried burgers” he paused, smirking a little before continuing “You haven’t had sex” He lowered his voice and looked over his shoulder to the older couple in the booth behind them. “I wanna know, what else haven’t you tried?” 

Dean stared at him, patiently, as he could almost see the gears turning inside his head. 

A whole minute must’ve passed before Cas furrowed his brow faintly, his eyes squinting as he answered, his voice conflicting with the words he spoke “A bubble bath”. 

“ A bubble bath” Dean repeated - this was not what he had expected.  _ What was he expecting?  _

“A bubble bath,” Castiel reiterated, seemingly very pleased with his answer the more he thought about it. “Have you tried it?” 

Dean tried not to redden as he remembered all the (very few) times John and Sam had both been away, and he’d made himself a bubble bath, after a cold training session in the rain

“I was thinking more along the lines of mini-golf or something” Dean tried to avoid the question, he didn’t need to give Cas a picture of him in a bubble bath. “But yeah man why not, you should totally try a bubble bath.” 

“Oh,” Cas replied “Is mini-golf for miniature people? Because I don’t think our heights qualify.” 

Dean shook his head laughing into his shoulder “That’s it, I’m definitely taking you mini-golfing.”

And with that, they decided to leave the diner. Dean thought he should be going home, hoping his dad wouldn’t be around - he couldn't stand the thought of lying about where he was over and over again, and Sam - that was harder. 

Amy, the waitress, was leaning against the counter, absentmindedly playing with her hair. Dean coughed to get her attention. 

“Here, you can keep the change,” he said, handing her a fifty dollar bill.  _ For her trouble, _ he thought, for getting caught in his 'flusteredness' before. She showed him her perfectly Colgate white teeth, slowly biting her bottom lip provocatively. 

“Thank you” She handed him the receipt, her number scribbled in rounded numbers on the bottom. Dean couldn’t help but smirk at the hastily written numbers, behind the waitress’s back -  _ hey, digits were digits.  _

He chuckled a bit as he walked away, promising to call. He knew damn well he wouldn't but still, he wouldn’t just toss them. 

Castiel was waiting for him by the door, and Dean found himself wondering what the angel was thinking. He wasn’t sure yet if he wanted Castiel to have noticed it or not. 

* * *

Once again the garrison of angels had gathered at the round marble table in Heaven. A murmur traveled through the table, some voices raising here and there. Things were a-changing and they all felt it. The air was tense, you could just about cut it with a knife.

“Welcome brothers and sisters, to another highly needed gathering.” Metatron’s voice silenced the voices around the table. His demeanor was overly dramatic, and the way he looked down, before looking up with every word, left the rest of them feeling uneasy. 

“As many of you will know, unfortunately, no deal has yet been struck with the humans to release our leader, Michael,” Metatron stated this matter of factly, not a hint of pity or remorse, he didn’t even look bothered by the fact, like Michael was of no importance, just a casualty of the war, as any other, as if he was not talking about their leader, the one they had sworn to follow, the one who had stood with them in the trenches of wars past, and who would lead them into the final one. 

“We are currently working on a new plan to free Michael, which is of course of the highest priority.” Uriel’s voice filled the silence left by Metatron’s declaration. The angel’s deep voice bounced around the walls of the room.

“You talk about a new plan, but I fail to see what our previous plan has been.” The angel named Joshua spoke out against the other angels. He was restless, looking around at his brothers and sisters, almost begging someone else to join him in this venture of questioning Metatron and Uriel, who every day seemed to stray further from the soldiers Joshua had once respected.

“You have doubts about my approach,” it wasn’t a question and Metatron didn’t appear phased by his fellow angel’s criticism. “Of course we have been working on a plan, I have angels watching the city day and night. Isn’t that right Uriel?” 

“Yes, I have entrusted some of the most loyal angels in my garrison with the task of staying informed.” Uriel agreed, his eyes not even looking away from Metatron to meet Joshua’s, like his brother wasn’t due any respect in this matter.

“What is this new plan?” Joshua pushed. His demeanor wasn’t nearly as composed as Metatron’s, the hostility against the other angel was clear on his face.

“I guess there is no need for pleasantries anyway. As much as we would love to simply wipe their city off the map, this plainly goes against the last wishes of our dearest father, hallowed be his name.” Metatron paused for a second, as if the mention of God was too much for him to bear. To all intents and purposes, Father Dearest’s wishes would always be his endgame.“I would say we have to try and strike a deal with the hunters, find out what they want in return.” 

“Which is why we are sending six of our own to go down to negotiate with the hunters. We have already arranged the meeting.” Uriel said, genuinely fed up with Josua’s insistence. 

“And is no one going to question why are you in charge of our missions?” Joshua looked around the table at the different faces. He had never chosen Metatron as their leader, and he was sure the other angels felt the same way. Something had to be done, someone had to speak up. 

“As long as Michael is unavailable,” Metatron began somberly, but quickly developing into a meek conclusion “I’m afraid it is a burden I must accept.” 

Joshua scoffed, getting progressively exasperated, “And still, brother, I wonder, who was it that named you his successor? Why must this burden fall upon you?” He spoke, trying to play along with Metatron’s storyline. “When, we all know, you much prefer the quiet of heaven and your writing? I’m sure you would be of much better use documenting the war to come, rather than standing with us to fight.”

“Yes, it is awfully ironic, isn’t it?” Metatron smiled, apparently ignoring every one of Joshua’s provocations. 

Joshua didn’t smile. 

“Now, now, Joshua, why don’t you stop by later. I completely understand your worry and I would hate for us to not see eye to eye. After all, we are on the same side here.” 

-

They rolled into the parking lot of a road-side motel. Dean pulled the handbrake, the noise popping the thought bubble he’d been in. He took a look to his right, eyeing the angel in the passenger seat. He was still in the hunter gear Dean had given him the other day. He had his eyes closed, and Dean wondered for a moment if he could be sleeping, but quickly gathered he wasn’t. If there was something Dean could remember from class, it was that angels didn’t need to sleep. 

He took a deep breath, the back of his freshly shaved head against the impala’s head-rest, and rubbed his eyes roughly with his palms. He had an angel in the passenger seat of the car his dad had given him, where Sam would probably sit in the next few days - this all still seemed so unbelievable… His whole town was hyper-vigilant, all on the lookout for angel appearances, and here he was helping the enemy. And yet, somehow, it didn’t feel wrong, it didn’t feel like he was aiding the enemy, for some reason, he trusted Cas wasn’t his foe, even starting to see him as his friend. 

When Cas had told him about his orders, to keep track of suspicious activities in the Shady Lady, Dean suggested he stayed at this motel, right across the street from the Club. 

When, the night before, Castiel had appeared to him in his sleep,  _ again _ , he’d told him what Gabriel had asked of him - to lay low, and not use any angel juice, just keep an eye on the Shady Lady and any sign of Metatron - Dean figured it would mean a stake-out and  _ that _ Dean knew how to do,  _ he would teach him.  _

“How will I get there?” Castiel had innocently asked him in return.

“Baby” Dean had stated, just matter of factly, wondering how the angel had ever survived this long amongst humans. 

“Yes?” The angel replied, softly, his brow furrowed in confusion, he looked so lost, and before Dean even acknowledged the misunderstanding he found himself so charmed by the puzzled look on Castiel’s face. 

“What?” Dean had looked confused, and then realization draped across his face, and laughter erupted shyly “No, not you. Baby, my car -” He struggled to get the words out between laughs “I’ll drive you, dumbass”. Shaking his head in laughter, he tried not to look at Cas, letting him get all flustered and red -  _ adorable.  _

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice startled him “Are we not supposed to get out of the car now?”

Dean went to check them in, nervously looking around for any familiar faces in the lobby - there weren’t any. Still, he fidgeted with his sleeves, and when the lady at the front desk asked him how many beds they needed, he chuckled uncomfortably. When he went hunting with Sam they never asked that. 

“Two” He shook the thought out of his head. “You know what, make that one, I'm not staying” He felt the need to explain. The woman at the desk hardly looked up. 

* * *

Dean stood in the middle of the room, looking at Castiel. He let his arms fall down, hitting the sides of his jeans “Well, this is it”. Cas looked around the motel room. The room was dimly lit, just one lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, and a small bedside table lamp casting a weary yellowy light against the painted walls. The carpet was a brownish color, that disturbingly enough, seemed to have been white at some point, and matched perfectly with the earth tones that decorated the room. Some sea motif art, sticking out like a bull on a prairie, were spread out unevenly through the walls - like someone had wanted to give this room a make-over, but had given up only halfway through. There was one large bed, the linens also a worn-out color, undistinguishable in the sea of neutrals all around. All in all, not better, but no worse than any other road-side motel Dean had stayed in. 

“I should go grab a bite. You ‘gonna be ok buddy?” 

Castiel seemed distracted, looking around the room, opening closet doors and the bathroom door, checking inside. He smiled widely into the bathroom, and then, back at Dean. 

“Do you think this is a good opportunity to try the bubble bath?”

“You don’t need to keep saying  _ bubble _ bath, you can just say  _ bath  _ you know?”

The thought of the angel being so curious about something as trivial as a  _ bubble  _ bath amused Dean .  “Yeah sure you can just take a bath, I won’t take long.”

After a quick and basic explanation of how baths actually work - “ _ you fill it with water, and then with soap, so it makes bubbles and then just, you know, soak in it, ” _ Dean was on his way to get some take out. “I’ll be back soon Flounder, don’t drown.”

* * *

Castiel was left alone in the room, hovering over the bathtub, inspecting it carefully.  _ Just soak in it? _

As he let the hot water rise in the tub, he thought back to all the times he’d done this kind of thing. It felt so foreign to him, meddling in human affairs - if you could even call a bath a human affair, still it was a very human thing to do. Still, Castiel was never one to refuse to try new things, and when Dean had asked him what else he had never tried, this activity immediately popped to mind.

Of all his brothers and sisters, he was, arguably, the one who had mingled the most with humans, always keeping a distance of course, - he was  _ just so curious  _ about the things they cared about, such earthly, meaningless items they seemed to obsess over - wheels, cars… burgers… - and he tried and tried to understand, to feel what they felt, and sometimes he succeeded. Music, for instance, had been around for centuries, even the cavemen hummed melodies to keep warm. And watching from above, Castiel had tried to mimic it, never quite accomplishing it, until one day somewhere in the fifteen hundreds a boy in a village had prayed, singing ever so slightly, and he’d heard it - it resonated with him so much, that he finally understood music. And the kind of high he felt when that happened was unlike any other he’d ever felt in heaven - he actually  _ felt  _ something - and so, from that moment on he found himself chasing that kind of high over and over again. But this? This kind of interaction with a human? Allowing himself to be seen, and engaging with him, was something completely new - and  _ God…  _ when he was with him, it was like that feeling never ceased. 

* * *

Dean juggled the bags in his arms, trying to put the key in the lock to open the motel room door, exhaling tiredly as he managed to put the bags down on the table inside after kneeing the door open. 

He creased his forehead at the fact that Castiel was nowhere to be found. 

“Cas?”

That's when he noticed it, a small puddle of water had formed just outside the bathroom door, seeping through the carpet, giving Dean’s footsteps a soggy sound as he approached the door. “You okay in there?”

When Cas didn’t answer, he instinctively opened the door. Nothing could’ve prepared him for what he saw.

The entire bathroom was filled to the brim with bubbles. The white tile floor was practically covered in water that had overflowed, and the condensation stuck to Dean’s skin, as the seconds passed. He breathed in the warm air and his eyes met Cas’. There they were - a pair of bright blue eyes staring at him from the white, bubbly, mountain of foam. Castiel looked so lost in the middle of it that Dean couldn’t help but burst into laughter. 

“I used the human soap like you told me to,” a voice came from somewhere in the foam. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” Dean said grinning widely. “Did you recreate the North Pole while you were at it?” 

“It’s not funny, Dean,” Castiel said in a voice that made Dean laugh even harder. ”It just kept multiplying and rising and then I could hardly see the room anymore.”

Dean was now actually wiping away tears from his eyes. “Can’t you just zap it away?”

“How could I? They're all individual bubbles. I can’t just make them all disappear into thin air, I’m not a magician Dean” Castiel’s voice rose a bit louder as he lifted his hands in frustration, and dropped them back down, splashing in the bathwater. 

“Okay, okay, calm down.” Dean tried to stifle his laughter, “I’ll help you.” 

Dean had to concentrate on keeping a straight face a few times because the sight of a powerful angel looking so lost in a sea of bubbles was probably one of the funniest things he had ever seen. And he had been there during Sam’s awkward emo teen phase. But this?  _ Oh man…  _ This was clearly the rib-tickling, side-splitting funniest thing he’d seen in a while. 

“Can you reach the plug to drain the water?” Dean glanced around the room again,  he stepped in, taking a step to his left, his back against the humid wall. It was a small bathroom, and where he stood, in front of the bathtub, he had a direct view of the angel’s eyes, beaming from the midst of all the white bubbly soap.  He felt sorry for the poor maid that would have to clean this up. “Just pull it, and come get yourself dried off.” 

Before Dean could take a step back though, Cas started standing up, foam still covering most of him. 

“Whoa, whoa, wait a second-” Dean’s shocked voice was loud in the echo of the bathroom. He tried to turn on his heels, but his knee hit the corner of the wall, making him flinch in pain. 

“You can’t just-” He felt the collar of his t-shirt suddenly tightening around his neck, the heat in the bathroom getting to him, rising from his chest to his face as he awkwardly gestured Cas to sit back down, and yet he stood still, head tilting to the side a bit, obviously intrigued by Dean’s sudden dismantling. 

Dean’s arm reached blindly across the wall, searching for a towel, his eyes looking up at the ceiling, very focused on  _ that one moldy streak, had it been there before? Where’s this goddamn towel rack??  _ He looked to his side, still trying not to look in Castiel’s general direction, and found the towels stacked up by the sink. He took another step into the bathroom to reach them, now standing back against the sink, towel in hand.

“Here,” he tossed the towel over to a very dripping and oblivious Cas, still feeling the fabric of his cotton shirt cling to his back.  _ Jesus, it’s hot in here.  _

Cas grabbed the towel and wrapped it around his waist as he clumsily threw one leg over the bathtub brim, and then the other, water still trickling down his bare torso. The towel hung, barely hanging on, on Castiel’s hips. The V-like muscle glistened with the remnants of soap, just above where the towel folded in. He was able to get a steady hold on the wet floor, carefully not to slip, and positioned himself in front of Dean, his back to the door and facing the mirror over the sink. 

“Thank you,” He muttered, standing only a few inches away from Dean, who could feel the steam emanating from the body in front of him. Castiel’s eyes studied his, and he tried to match the angel’s stare, but it was proving hard to do - his eyes darting from Cas’s eyes to his mouth, to his neck and then his collarbone, Dean’s lips parted ever so slightly. There was a flash of shiny metal that caught Dean’s eye, he had never seen it around Castiel’s neck before. It appeared to be a simple amulet, from the metal chain dangled a clear crystal. Dean would wonder about it if he wasn’t occupied by _everything else_ going on right now.   
  
Because in that moment, Dean’s whole body seemed to melt with the heat, with this proximity - he could, in just a small hip movement, close the distance between them at any moment. Dean amused that thought, just for a second, his blood pumping straight to his groin, making it very difficult not to give in to it, his hips just begging for him to lean in just a little. 

“Uhm-” Dean’s voice was hoarse and his mouth felt like cotton. “You’re, uhm, you’re welcome.”

Castiel didn’t seem to budge, so Dean hastily moved around him, trying to ignore the electricity that palpated through his entire body, as he grazed him on his way out of the bathroom.

He desperately needed to get some air, to breathe. 

“I'm gonna go, okay? I’ll check in with you tomorrow” Dean grabbed his jacket from the coat hanger by the door, and closed it behind him without waiting for an answer. 

* * *

“Please, share your concerns,” Metatron gestured to the only other chair in the room. He had taken over Michael’s office as well, the walls stripped down to the bones and the desk where they had once congregated around, discussing strategy and revising field maps now looked crowded with a typewriter, paper everywhere, a bowl that seemed very out of place, next to a cutting tool, and a couple of candles that had melted into the oak of the table.

The chair Metatron invited him to sit, had once been the spot where he’d stayed so late with Michael discussing matters of utter importance. 

Joshua touched the back of the chair, hesitantly, “I’d rather stand if it’s all the same with you.” Every time he spoke, he directed his words like an arrow, trying to take a shot at Metatron.

“As you wish.” 

“What I - what we want to know, brother, is what is actively being done to free our leader?” Joshua gave Metatron an opening to answer, and when he stayed silent he decided to continue “Some of us feel that your, or heaven’s main priority doesn’t lie with freeing Michael from the city that has trapped him, you see? And we’ve got questions. Such as -” His voice had risen considerably, and his irritation grew with every second Metatron looked idly at him, looking completely unphased by these accusations “- how were they able to capture him in the first place, he is our leader and he is supposed to be one of the strongest among us. Humans have never been capable of fighting against us, we want to know how they’re doing it!” 

The words fell flat. Metatron wasn’t even looking at him anymore, instead, he’d focused on the silver blade that rested in Michael’s secretary. 

“I want to show you something,” Metatron stood up from where he sat across from him and grabbed the blade, balancing it in between his fingers.

“This is a normal knife, is it not?” Metatron inquired. 

Joshua appeared more puzzled with every second. He stared intently as Metatron turned the blade in his hands, holding it out for Joshua to see up close. 

“And as you very well know, simple knives can’t kill our kind, right?”

“Yes?” Joshua eyed the knife with apprehension. 

“Then you won’t mind,” Metatron dipped the blade into the bowl in front of him. “If we use your disobedience for a little experiment.”

“My disobedience?” the angel’s eyes grew wide. 

“Defiance, rebellion, call it whatever you’d like,” Metatron’s lips curled into a smile. “The point is, Joshua, I can't have that. I understand your loyalties lie with Michael, but see - ” He paused as if to build suspense “I can’t have that” His hand abruptly moved before Joshua could step back, and in a swift motion stabbed him in the chest.

The knife sank deep into the angel’s stomach, the skin tore apart around the blade, and what Metatron could only qualify as a satisfying scream escaped from Joshua’s mouth, his eyes widening, vexed with the betrayal, unable to do anything but let the pain wash over him.

Metatron smirked as he drove the knife even deeper into Joshua’s body until the shiny metal was no longer visible. The sounds of ripping flesh and muscles grew louder but yet another loud shriek burst from Joshua’s lips, drowning them out. Then Metatron drew back the knife and watched the angel crumpling to the ground in agony, blood flooding quickly from the wound in his abdomen. He watched as Joshua’s entire body convulsed on Heaven’s marble white floors and waited until the guttural choking sound stopped. 

“Interesting,” Metatron raised his eyebrows, as he pulled the blade from the carcass of the angel, cleaning it with a pocket-handkerchief.

He looked back at the Tibetan bowl on the desk, clay and rough on the outside and golden on the inside, a single yellow flower floating in the middle - the smell invading his nostrils, sweet and yet extremely unpleasant. “Interesting” He repeated, incapable of holding a small laugh. 

* * *

Dean had gotten in late the night before, everyone already asleep as he’d made his way to his bedroom, and closed himself in the bathroom, he was in dire need of a shower, to wash away all the events of the day. Then he’d made his way to bed, trying to fall asleep not replaying the seconds he’d spent at a finger's length of Cas - to no use. 

The next morning he woke, feeling well-rested, for a change, and in a great mood. Prancing downstairs, he decided to grab a quick bite and leave before John woke up, just to check in on Cas. 

Once in the kitchen, Dean stretched his arm as high as he could, but it was useless, Sam had stored the Lucky Charms’ box way up high, and he wasn’t about to use a step ladder to get it, his pride couldn’t handle that big of a hit. He’d just eat toast instead. 

“Hey man” 

The toaster made a sound, tossing the pieces of bread up in the air, at the same time Sam walked into the kitchen. 

“Mornin’ sunshine” Dean caught them mid-air, burning his fingers the longer he held them, scanning quickly for a plate to put them on. 

“You got in late last night” 

“Yeah, just went for night time jog” 

“Dean, you hate running” That was true, and Dean could see Sam’s eye roll, but he wasn’t even lying this time, he had really gone running, well, he tried to - instead, he just ended up sprinting between to trees, just trying to get the imagery of a very wet, very naked Castiel standing  _ so close  _ to him. 

“Yeah well, went to make sure I still did “ He grinned, “And guess what? It still blows.”

Sam took the joke and laughed it off. He really didn’t want to get into it with his brother, and for that Dean was grateful. 

“Dad’s been asking for you.” Sam's voice lowered, sitting down next to Dean “He’s not happy”

That didn’t surprise Dean, it was just a matter of time until he came head to head with his father about being out so much, especially without Sam. He was walking on very thin ice, and one day his lies would catch up with him- someone would eventually see him in town with an unknown face, or maybe someone had already spotted him. Like Jo… He remembered their encounter thinking he should go see her before she spilled the beans - and that’s exactly what he got up to do. 

“Just tell him I’m-”

“Tell him yourself” Sam nodded in the direction of the kitchen door, to his dad.

“Where do you think you’re going?” John’s voice pierced through Dean’s eardrum like a drill sergeant's command. He sounded angry, even more so than usual. He really didn’t want to do this now, he’d felt so cheerful just moments before, but it didn’t seem like his dad would just drop it.

“Uh, just running a few-”

“Errands for Bobby? Yeah I’ve been told, and while Bobby seems to confirm your story, I don’t buy it for a second” 

Dean was in deep shit and he knew it. He wondered if Jo had already made any comment about what she saw, and if that was the case this argument would turn into a full-blown fight in just a few minutes. He should just stall. “Excuse me?” 

“I can tell you’re lying, son. Hell, I taught you how.” John raised his hand in Dean’s general direction, only to slam it back down on the kitchen table, the sound startling him, even if he tried to hide it. “So I’m asking you again, where are you going?”

If there was ever a moment where Dean wanted the earth to swallow him whole this was it. He looked around, to Sam, begging him to say something, do anything really just to distract from this conversation, but his brother just looked right back at him, eyes boggled as if to say  _ what do you want me to say, you haven’t told me anything either. _

“Please tell me it’s not about some girl,” John followed his question with this one, disappointment lining his words - but Dean felt a rock lift off his shoulders, his dad had no idea what was actually going on, which meant, this would go over much easier. Still, he needed to find Jo and get ahead of the game. 

“Yeah, it is,” relief washed over him. This was going to turn into a fight anyway, might as well bite and get it over with, so he could go on about his business.

“Dean,” John pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know better than to make ties outside of the wall, it’s never going to work.”

“But she’s different,” Oh  _ he  _ was different alright. Dean had never felt more grateful for the fact that his dad couldn’t hear his heartbeat. 

“I don’t care, you’re gonna have to break things off. You’re only putting her in danger, and worse you’re putting our family in danger.” 

“Really?” Dean felt the rage build up. “And how exactly am I doing that?’ Oh, if only his dad knew half of it, really he was putting Cas in danger, so much more than his family because he knew for certain, Castiel wouldn't hurt them. He sighed mentally, he didn’t know, actually, but he wanted to believe it so bad, he’d put his money where his mouth was, or in this case, his family. 

“Mind your tone, son! You know that love only makes you sloppy, and you know what we can’t afford right now?” The rhetorical question hovered over them, for some time, Dean actually thought maybe he was supposed to answer, but soon enough the other shoe dropped “Sloppiness! Goddamn Dean, you´re walking around all caught up in your feelings while angels are trying to kill us every chance they get!”

“How do you know?!” Dean’s legs thrust him up from the chair that fell down behind him with the impulse. He felt his blood boil - his dad always thought he knew better, always hiding things and keeping secrets from him,  _ damn it,  _ he was a man, he could handle it, whatever it was they hushed in those meetings, Dean wanted to know. It felt personal now, like everyone was in on some sick joke he still didn’t get - Castiel, not telling him any more than what he “needed” to know, his dad, walking around with a holier than that attitude, always talking about angels like they were the most dangerous creatures out there, well he was starting to doubt it, had his dad even met an angel, apart from Michael? Well, he had! And Castiel wasn’t like they made them out to be. He just wanted  _ information, hell, was that so hard? _

“This isn’t up for discussion, Dean. You’re not seeing her again, unless you think it’s worth putting us all in danger, putting Sammy in danger!”

Dean scoffed. “What do you know about putting Sam in danger huh?” Oh, he should not have gone there, in fact, he regretted the words the minute they fell out of his mouth, but alas, it was too late, he might as well finish his point “You’re never around, you just show up, yell to me about protecting him, which I already goddamn do, and leave again!”

“What did you say to me boy?” John took a step closer to Dean, raising his voice, facing him eye to eye. This was relatively recent - he used to look down on him, quite literally, and then Dean just kept growing taller, and nowadays, they stood eye-to-eye. 

Dean felt no different than he did when he was 14 and done some stupid shit Jonh was absolutely right to tear him a new one about. 

“Hey!” Sam interrupted, reaching his arm between the two of them, in the little space they left for their chests to swell up with the anger that was brewing. “ Hey! I’m perfectly fine taking care of myself if you two haven’t noticed - I'm a grown-ass adult.” 

They both turned their heads to Sam, in surprise. Dean, dumbfoundedly and appreciative of the distraction, but guilty to drag his little brother into yet another fight. And John, he just looked like he was about to burst -and then, he did.

“Listen to me, I work my ass off to protect you” He was shouting at this point, full-on screaming into their faces “  _ Both _ of you dumbasses. So save the ingratitude for someone else”. 

Turning to one at a time, he decided the fight was over. “You get to stop being treated like a kid, when you start acting like a man, Samuel.” He then looked at Dean “And you, speak to me like that again, I swear it’ll be the last thing you decide to do. Stop moping around because you don’t get a seat at the table! Use your head, you know why you don't get a seat at the table? Because you’re immature, you’re not cautious, you’d rather chase some tail in town and out us all at risk, than to just stay put and doing what you’re told”

Before Dean had time to process anything, let alone answer him, he just stared at his old man’s back as he walked away from them both, slamming the front door on the way out. 

“Well, that went well,” Dean said sheepishly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter, and it's only a few days later than normal! But it's a long one so I hope that makes up for it, if anyone was keeping track in the first place. I have to thank my amazing new friend and beta, Fred, for her amazing work on this chapter, I honestly wouldn't be able to upload it today if it wasn't for her. So a big shout out to her and I hope you liked this chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes for you at the beginning this time! Welcome to chapter 8, it's another long one! I've decided to add some poetry to this story, because hey, I like it. This chapter also features so art from the incredible wantstoflyafraidtofall (on Tumblr), honestly their artwork fits the scene so well!

_“There were two reasons_

_I was so scared_

_to let people in;_

_the damage they could do,_

_and the damage they could find.”_ _  
  
_

_Chris Mc Geown_

* * *

The hours after the fight dragged along painfully slow. The Winchester boys sat around for a while, making small talk, avoiding addressing the situation, before the elephant in the room became so suffocating, they had nothing to say anymore. 

Dean would sometimes look at Sam, who clearly wanted to ask him questions. He could see Sam open his mouth just to close it again, as if trying to decide whether to get involved or not. Dean decided for him, he got up and left without saying a word. 

He grabbed his duffel bag that hung by the door and mindlessly started making his way over to the Echo zone. It was around noon, so, he figured, the inside training facility would be empty until at least 3 pm when the younger ones would start their afternoon training. It meant he had about two hours to spend alone, just him and the punching bag. 

* * *

“Thanks, man, I owe you one,” Dean patted his fellow hunter on the back, familiarly shuffling the keys to the training center in his hand.

“You owe me about 50 at this point, kid” the man laughed. Clearly amused at his own joke, and Dean thanked him once again and made his way into the pavilion.

The door made an awful screeching sound as he pushed his shoulder against it. Inside, Dean would never get tired of the view - an empty gym, completely equipped, top of the art machinery and shiny new weights lined the foot of the wall. This part of the training center was relatively new, a few months back it had been entirely renovated and it was kept glistening, because it was the little ones' job to clean it, something about teaching them discipline and chores. Hell, Dean thought it was a great idea, but was happy they didn’t get to cleaning till after their own training was done. 

The punching bags hung in the far back, in the far right corner. This was Dean’s favorite thing to do. It’s not like he _minded_ lifting weights or doing push up after push up, but this, he actually enjoyed. 

Dumping the duffel on the floor, he took out some of his things. He took off his jacket and shirt, to put on a white training tank, and skimmed out of his jeans to get in a pair of comfortable sweats. Then, he took the tape and started wrapping his knuckles, tight, before sliding his hands into the gloves. Bumping his fists together before starting, he took a step back, and then, hand on the bag, pushed it as far as he could. 

One punch - _Damn this feels good._

In just a few movements he was immersed in the feeling, it was just him and this bag, and all his feelings, all his frustrations, all of it he poured it out right there. He let every emotion melt into one big, angry, arm movement that culminated with his hand hitting the black leather bag. He had to get it all out, _the fight with his dad_ \- he punched harder and faster - _the sneaking around, lying_ \- faster now, technique flailing _\- why did Castiel put him in that position, why did he let himself get put in this position_ ? - his punches were sloppy now, not even letting the bag swing all the way down before sending it back up again _\- Castiel -_ just the thought of the name sent shivers down his spine, and in that moment all he felt was anger, nothing else, every emotion wearing the face of red, bright red, anger. - _why him? Why did he feel like that? Why couldn’t he just leave it alone? Protect the family -_ as he began to punch, sloppy and carelessly, the bag started hitting him in the arms, his knees giving in a little - _protect Sammy._

He hadn’t noticed it until now, his vision getting blurry, but stray tears had fallen from his face, his gloves catching a drip here and there, and his mind drifted again, this time not angry anymore, just… empty - _Cas -_ he grabbed the bag, against his body, making it stop and let himself slide down, until he was sitting on the floor, head between his knees, allowing his voice to crack as he let himself cry it out. - _how did he get here, how did he find himself torn between his family and anyone else, an angel worst of all._ He let his breath even, slowly breathing in and out to calm down. He was torn. He could admit it to himself, at least. This had never happened before- no one had ever made him doubt even for a second, that if it meant protecting his family, he was prepared to give anything away, his happiness would never get in the way of him doing the right thing. This was the first time he felt like he could almost get a glimpse of his own happiness, and now he wasn't so sure.

* * *

When he finally let his head hit his pillow, trying to sleep away the day he’d had, something kept him restless. _“I’ll check in with you”_ He’d said it to Cas before leaving so hastily. He never did check in. And that thought kept him awake. _What would Cas think? That he’d forgotten? Was he waiting for a check-in?_ He could just picture him now, sitting on the motel bed, staring at a blank wall, just waiting patiently. Or maybe he wasn’t doing any of this, at all, maybe Castiel hadn’t even thought about Dean since he’d left. Maybe he went on about his angel business and could care less about this one human. That thought stung him more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t like the angel had a phone, anyway, not like Dean could just text him. Unless...

This had worked before, so what the hell it was worth a shot. 

He wondered for a moment if it was mandatory to get down on his knees and fold his hands but quickly decided that it was just stupid. Instead, he sat down at the edge of his bed, his gaze focused on the trees outside his window, before he closed his eyes tight, letting his neck lower until his forehead met his thumbs, hands over knees. 

“Uhm,” Dean rolled his eyes inside his lids, _great start_. “So I don’t know how this works, or if this even works, but I figured I would try to talk to you through praying?” It was more a question aimed at himself than Cas, who obviously couldn’t answer. “So, here goes nothing” He cleared his throat

“Hey Cas, hope you can hear me” He paused for a moment, opening one eye to check if the angel hadn’t casually just popped in, even though that would be impossible with the angel warding on the walls of the city, and probably the house as well. “So, I just wanted to check in with you, like I told you I would.” _This felt stupid. He should just stop talking_ \- but something inside told him to keep going, if Cas wasn’t listening anyway there was no one to think he was ridiculous. 

“I’m sorry I left yesterday, I had to -” he paused, thinking of an excuse, because what was he going to say? _I'm sorry I left before I couldn't control my thoughts?_ “- run some errands''. He really needed to start coming up with better excuses. “Anyway, my dad isn’t too big on the whole angel thing, as you might have guessed, and he's getting suspicious because I keep disappearing.” Dean wasn’t sure this was going well. “I mean, I don’t think he knows I’m out, hanging with some angel, that's for sure, but now he thinks there’s some chick involved and I don’t know what else to tell him. Anyhow, I don’t know when I’ll be able to leave his sight for the next few days, just thought I’d let you know” He opened his eyes again, it didn’t make sense but he could almost feel someone watching him “So, this is it. I guess I’m done?” A smile opened up a little, heat rising to his cheeks.

He waited and he looked around again. There was no sign that Castiel might have heard him, but then why would there be? Whether Cas had heard him or not, there was no way that they would meet each other again soon. Dean wanted to deny that he felt empty at the thought of never seeing Castiel again, but he couldn’t. Whatever crap bonding had happened between them had royally fucked with his perception of angels. Well, at least his perception of one angel. 

Dean shrugged the thoughts away, as best as he could - but lately, he never seemed to quite be able to put angel-related thoughts away, it was always there, in the back of his mind. And nights were the worst - he’d toss and turn before falling asleep, with thoughts of angels and demons, and hunting, but one angel occupied most of his thoughts - Castiel. And then he’d fall asleep and, like in a weird fever dream, images and moments all mangled together. Sometimes it was just a replay of the day’s events, other times dream-Dean made things he just wished he could do. And on occasion, he had terrible dreams - where John made him kill Castiel, or John himself would kill Castiel, Sam killing Castiel - whoever it was, Cas always ended up dead, and Dean would always wake up in a panting, sweat ridden panic. 

Tonight he just wanted to sleep - no dreams, no nothing. 

As he was falling asleep, a thought crossed his mind. For a moment he was worried that someone might have seen them out together, they hadn’t been exactly careful when they were prancing around town. If anyone were to mention it to John, he was done for.

 _Fuck._ Dean shot up from the bed, Jo had run into them and he hadn’t seen her since. Every curse word under the sun crossed Dean’s mind. 

There was one thing he knew for certain, he would have to find Jo as soon as possible and make sure she didn’t breathe a word of that day to anyone. 

* * *

Dean checked his watch as he left the house in the morning. 

8.45 am

If he was quick, he could still catch Jo before she left the house, and it was good timing too, Ellen had already probably left to go to the Road House. 

Dean quickened his pace, half walking, half jogging. He knew she would ask a million questions and he couldn’t answer any of them.

When he got to her house, he rang the doorbell twice, letting her know it was him. He waited, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, worrying if she’d already told anyone what she saw.

The door opened to reveal Jo, still in her pajamas, holding a bowl of cereal in her hands.

“Hey Dean” She yawned, “come in”.

He followed her gesture inside the house. It was much tidier than his house, but then again, they were women, and in the Winchester household, just three men. And it smelled good too. That’s something he’d always loved about Ellen’s house - _there was always pie._

“Sorry to catch you so early.”

“That’s fine. I was actually wondering when you’d show up” She snickered

“What do you mean?” Dean looked around for the pie, he could smell it. Was it blueberry?

“You think I don’t know you, Dean Winchester?” Jo followed him into the kitchen and took out a plate from the bottom cabinet. “I run into you in town, with a very good looking new boy toy, and now you’re here, before training?” She slid him the plate and pulled him a chair. 

“What?!” He almost choked on his own spit “There’s no new boy toy, wait, there’s no _old_ boy toy for that matter, what’s wrong with you?” He tried to sound offended and nonchalant, but he was guessing Jo could see he was just full-on blushing. 

She opened the oven and took the pie out, placing it in front of him on the table. “Whatever you say Dean-O” she laughed. “So to what do I owe the pleasure then?” 

Dean swallowed the piece of pie on his fork before looking at her very seriously. “About that guy, I was with the other day, could you not mention him to my dad, or your mom, or anyone for that matter?” 

“You mean the guy with the funny nickname?”

Dean nodded in agreement

“The same guy who was wearing your jacket?” Of course, she had noticed. 

“Yeah that’s the one, now could we please shut up about him?” Dean took an angry bite out of the pie. If it wasn’t so good he’d probably not have this conversation extending so much.

“Why?” The teasing in her voice was clear. “You wanna keep your boy toy a secret?”

“Because I’m asking you to, or rather I’m telling you to Jo. If you decide to tell anyone I will make damn sure you won’t see the outside of these walls in a very long time”

“Calm down macho man, I won’t tell anyone about your secret lover.”

“He is-,” Dean felt himself going red. “I don’t have a secret lover,” His fist slamming down next to his plate.

“Sure,” Jo smirked, knowingly. 

“Shut up ”

* * *

There was no way in hell that this hunt was a three-person job. There was no need for the three of them to stick together in this tiny cramped hallway. And there was definitely no fair answer as to why John hadn’t let Dean out of his sight for a single second. 

This had to be the most straight-forward, run of the mill, haunting he’d ever seen. Old house in the middle of a farm, new family that had moved in. _God, this was the start to like every poltergeist movie ever made._

The family that had lived there before was pretty wild. The whole town knew the stories, though some weren’t sure if there was any truth to them. An old couple couldn’t have children, they’d tried for years and years, and so, when the chance rose to save a little orphan child, they took it. The thing was, with every child also came a big fat state paycheck, and when the Morbeys figured that, children kept coming in, until the old house was looking more like a whole damn orphanage than a home. 

The towners looked down on them, and their children - they were always dirty and in dire need of a good scrubbing. None of the money seemed to go to the care of the kids, and they looked absolutely starved. In fact, little to no attention was paid to them by the couple, who, as time went on left them more and more to their own devices and the children began acting like wild, feral animals. They’d fight amongst them, sometimes the injuries were not severe and could be dealt with by Mrs. Morbey, but other times Mr. Morbey had to call a friend to help out - a vet. 

One time, though, one of the kids got hurt, badly, and not even the vet could help her. She ended up dying on the property and after that, the state was called and the other kids were taken away. The old couple lived out the rest of their days there, until one day they died, strangely - a murder-suicide they’d called it, but no one could ever prove it. 

Now this poor family of four lived in the home, unaware of the horrid history the house held. Until they became the victim of strange occurrences, of course, it didn’t take much digging after that to find out what really happened in their home. 

“Sam, why don’t you check out the bedrooms, and Dean and I will check the attic,” John said.

Dean earned a confused look from his brother, who was used to being the one paired with him, Dean just shrugged it off. He knew damn well that his dad was using this hunt as a shitty cover, to keep a closer eye on him. 

John motioned for Dean to follow him up the stairs, leaving Sam in the narrow hallway. As they reached the attic Dean could feel the dust start to fill his lungs, clearly no one had been up here in a long time. There was just a single narrow window, but it was blocked off by stacked boxes, making it even harder to see a damn thing. Dean cursed as he walked into what appeared to be some old oil painting, the sharp edge of the frame digging into his shin. 

“Watch where you’re going, we don’t want to disturb anything more than we have to,” John said in a low hushed voice.

“Easy to talk, you’re the one with the flashlight,” Dean muttered softly. Either his dad didn’t hear it, or he chose to ignore it. 

* * *

“The bones?” John asked, turning to his youngest son. 

“Salted and burned,” Sam replied.

“Good,” John nodded. “Dean, why don’t you tell the family their home is back to normal again.” 

“Sure,” Dean didn’t feel like arguing with his dad _again_. “You guys can go ahead to the motel, I’m getting a drink after this.” 

John looked at him, apprehension clear on his face. 

“What, I can’t get a goddamn drink without a babysitter anymore?” 

And whether it was plain tiredness or lack of patience to deal with his son, or just accepting the mystery woman he was supposedly hanging with would not have followed them to this backward ass town Dean didn’t know, but John nodded in agreement. 

At the bar, Dean could finally relax a little. The game was on, and Sam had decided to tag along. This was good, it felt just like old times.

“Hey, excuse me, sweetheart,” Dean tapped the bar with his knuckles. The brunette girl behind the counter approached them with a smile. “Can we get two beers over here?”

“Oh, and some peanuts or something,” Sam added “Thanks”. 

They toasted to an easy case, and talked about sports before the conversation shifted to the city and the usual gossip. 

“So, you’re telling me that Jo, our Jo, little pigtails Jo-”

“Yes Dean, she’s not so little anymore, you know.”

“And Luke?” Dean’s face twitched, incredulous. He didn’t even want to picture it. _Sweet little Jo and whatshisname, doing the_ \- he couldn’t even finish the thought. 

“Yep. There are things going on inside those walls you have no idea” Sam laughed, taking another sip of his beer. He was right, he bet there were some secrets that were better left like so. 

“Uh, I was just with her the other day, why wouldn’t she tell me?”

“It’s not like you tell her much about your stuff either,” Sam teased him “Hell, you don’t tell me much either these days”

The bartender stood nearby, obviously eavesdropping on the conversation, not even trying to hide it. She eyed Dean up and down and smirked at him, and he was sure she was flirting. He looked at Sam, his face saying it all - _oh yeah?_

“Hey gorgeous” He called her over, side-eyeing Sam, just to check if his little brother was paying attention. “What do they call you?” 

“Sadie,” She extended her hand, in a greeting. Dean took her hand and kissed the back of it, eyes never leaving hers. She was rather striking, he thought, her hair was dark and framed her face, falling into her clavicles. Her eyes blue and with dark eyeshadow, contrasting against her pale white skin. 

“And your name?”

“Never mind my name, the only name you’ll be calling out tonight, is God’s” He winked. “What time do you get off?”

Sam looked down to his glass, half-embarrassed by his brother’s antics, and half-amused, most likely glad to see Dean act like his normal self again. Sam shook his head, with a smile. 

Sadie told Dean she’d get off at midnight, and he told her he’d wait. 

Sam took off at around eleven, even though Dean had practically begged him to stay, he told him he was tired. “You didn’t really dig any graves tonight, did you?”

_Fair enough._

The next hour Dean studied his newest conquest, she kept looking back at him while serving other clients, and then back the clock. They hadn’t exchanged any more words, and it felt pretty clear that this would be just a one night stand - she didn’t seem bothered by the fact.

When the time came to close the bar, Dean followed her outside. 

“So, you live around here?” 

The girl nodded, and with a smile gestured to him to follow, as she made her way down the block. Dean promptly did so, just a step or two behind, his hands in his pockets. 

“So brooding and mysterious” She turned around sheepishly. Dean couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. He really wasn’t, it was just he had apparently nothing to say, which was weird in some way. They had come to a stop, and Dean waited as Amber messed with the keys, trying to get one to open the door of the building. It was an okay part of town, and she was gorgeous, and still, Dean felt kind of off. 

“Are you gonna get that open or what?” His patience ran thin, and the harshness in his voice startled the poor girl. She quickly got it open, and they went up the stairs in a heavy silence. 

When she got her keys out again, in a huge ring of maybe thousands of keys, it seemed, Dean sighed, exasperated once more. _Let’s get this over with now_ he thought, grabbing her wrist gently, and turning her toward him, her back against the door. And when she didn’t flinch or hesitate, he accepted it as _Go sign._

* * *

He trailed the back of her body, letting his fingers get tangled in her hair, pulling it slightly, and let his lips hit hers, his teeth sinking into her bottom lip until she let out a small moan. He took her keys with his free hand, and swiftly found the right one, unlocking the door with ease. She stumbled backward inside, clinging unto him, her arms around his neck. Dean took a look around, trying to find somewhere to do it, and the couch happened to be right ahead. He paused for a moment, to take his shirt off, and went ahead and undid his pants as she got undressed, slowly, eyes on his, seductively. He let his gaze explore her body, pleased with what he saw, his mouth agape. 

“You like what you see?” She giggled, laying on the couch, waiting for him. Dean nodded as he dropped his jeans on the floor, and joined her on the couch, one leg on the inside of hers and the other steadying him on the ground by the sofa. She moaned, a bit exaggeratedly, when his thigh pressured against her, it wasn’t an unpleasant sound, her moaning, but it echoed in his eardrum, and he just wasn't feeling it. He tried to shake the feeling away, focusing on her neck, kissing her from the collarbone, up to her lips - sweet and cherry tasting, delicate. 

“What’s wrong?” Despite his best efforts to act as if everything was fine, it was obvious in his stance that it wasn’t. He took a deep breath, letting his forehead rest on the crook of her neck as he made an effort to work out what was bugging him.

This didn’t happen to him, _ever_ , but now it seemed completely hopeless. She was fine, she was just great, but something was just not right. 

“I’m sorry, I can't do this,” He pleaded, backing away from her. She looked back at him, in absolute shock. The look on her face, and the fact that she was an objectively attractive girl, made him think it was probably the first time this had happened to her. “I’m really sorry” he repeated, taking a hand to his face and just passing it through his hair. 

* * *

The asphalt felt unwelcoming, freezing the bottom of his jeans where he sat. It was a cold December night, but he couldn’t move.

He’d been sitting, on the curb by the motel parking lot, for about an hour now, just sulking about the way his night turned out. He felt sorry, he truly did, for the girl, whatever her name was. He couldn’t wrap his brain around what’d happened. 

He just had a lot on his mind, that was all, and of course, the booze didn’t help. He figured, with his dad constantly on top of him, and the fighting, it was all just too much. His mind went over this reasoning again and again, in a piss poor attempt to convince himself, more than anyone else. This had to be the reason for his pathetic escape, what else was there? 

Dean wriggled his fingers nervously. He couldn’t get Jo’s voice out of his head, he went over their conversation multiple times. Why would she think Cas was anything but a friend, or a fellow hunter? Was it the way they talked? The way they walked? The way Dean looked at him? His mind wandered to thoughts of Castiel, and after a few moments an unsettling feeling set on the low of his back - _he was smiling._ The simple image of the angel, crossing his mind, had been enough to stir up this familiar, almost intimate warmth that spread through him, flushing his cheeks and heating him all over. 

Alone in this godforsaken motel parking lot, he stopped dodging the idea that Castiel made him feel some type of way, it was undeniable. He was strikingly handsome, incredibly powerful, the way he carried himself sent shivers down Dean’s spine - that he was absolutely physically enticed by him was nothing new at this point, just something he’d come to terms with in the back of his mind, something he’d let take over in the wee hours of the night, but push down in the light of day, but there was something else, that awkwardness, the innocence of his newness to this world, made him endearing and _just so fucking adorable,_ it was impossible not to be charmed by this literal angel.

Entranced in these thoughts, and under the cover of darkness and solitude, Dean played with the idea that maybe, just maybe, Castiel was messing with him, more than just physically. But that thought was fucked up beyond measure, it would mean denying every truth he knew about angels. 

He had to see Castiel again. This need burned through his entire being, this uncontrollable desire to be next to him, disguised as what Dean could only admit was the rational thought that he just needed to do that to convince himself that nothing was going on. If he could just see Cas, he could convince himself there was nothing there, that this was merely a sick joke on his own mind. 

And whether it was on purpose, he wasn’t sure, but he found himself praying for Castiel to meet him at the lake. He knew his dad wouldn’t be home because of another important meeting three days from now, so he would use it to his advantage. 

* * *

Dean sat on a log, facing the lake. He’d gotten to the place they set up, a little earlier than he’d intended, so it made sense that Castiel was nowhere to be seen. 

He felt the cold air breeze of December hitting the back of his neck, right above where his leather jacket ended. He shivered and decided to pull his collar up, to protect him more from the cold. His eyes darted from the lake, to the trees, startled with every little sound, every time expecting it to be the angel, and every time disappointed when it wasn’t. 

He didn’t know why he felt so on edge, it was just Cas. Cas who ate burgers with his entire face, and Cas who got swallowed whole by bubbles - he grinned at the memory - but it was also Castiel, angel of the lord, soldier of the enemy and the secret he carried around for a while now. Another thought popped up, that Dean tried to swat away, like a fly, but to no use - it was also Cas, with the eyes, and the lips, who had stood almost naked across from him, making him back into a sink so hard he still had the bruise to show for it, Cas who, for some reason, made it hard to breathe some times, and Cas, the angel he prayed to at night and met when he fell asleep. 

Dean hadn’t seen him since the motel when he’d left in a hurry, and he didn’t answer his prayer. _Maybe it didn’t work, maybe he didn’t get it._ Or maybe Castiel had gotten his message clear as day, but he just simply hadn’t cared. He went over the prayer in his head, trying to see if he’d said anything wrong. Obviously pushing to the back of his mind, the considerations that had haunted him a few nights earlier, he focused on the prayer, the honest to god, “amen” and all prayer. 

The thoughts invaded his mind, the longer he waited, he felt _so stupid_ , his mind drifted to what Sam would say if he saw him like this, getting stood up, most likely, he would never hear the end of it. 

Dean decided to just shake it off, getting up he grabbed the beers he’d brought and gave the place a last look around, in the back of his mind, still hoping the angel would show up any second now. He sighed, feeling perhaps more desolated than he would care to admit.

All of the sudden, interrupting Dean’s impromptu pity party, a rustle of feathers made him jerk his head back, just in time to see Castiel appearing out of thin air. He would never get used to this. 

A wave of relief washed over him, and a smile took shape on his face. 

“Hello Dean,” Castiel greeted him, that deep voice of his starting to feel strangely familiar in his ears. 

“I was starting to think you’d be a no-show,” Dean grinned, fidgeting with the label on one of the beers with his thumb. His eyes drew to them, remembering they were there “Oh, I brought this for you.” 

Castiel gracefully extended his arm to accept the offer. 

“I figured you probably haven’t tried beer either,” Dean announced, as to explain himself. “And ain’t no time like the present, am I right?” 

“Thank you, I don’t think I’ve consumed alcohol in a long time.” Cas gave him a wide smile, as he looked around for a place to sit. Dean gestured toward the log and the both of them sat down. Castiel watched as Dean flipped the cap off, copying his move, and when Dean took a big gulp, he followed. 

“Hey, Cas?” Dean looked at the angel, who appeared unsettled by the taste of the beer “Can I ask you something?”

Cas nodded, trying another sip.

“You’re an angel right?” It sounded like a question when it shouldn’t, he gave him no time to answer. “Aren’t you supposed to have you know, wings and whatnot? Isn’t that the whole package deal, fluffy wings, and halos?”

“That’s your question?” Castiel appeared slightly amused. 

“What?” Dean ignored the heat coming up in his cheeks. “A guy can’t wonder about lore accuracy?” 

While Castiel seemed taken aback for a second a smile quickly appeared on his face. Dean would never admit to anyone that it made his heart seem to do a backflip every time the angel expressed any sign of happiness.

“We do have wings, you humans just don’t see them.” 

“Wait, how does that even work?” 

Castiel seemed to be thinking about something judging by the way small lines seemed to crease his forehead. Every second Dean spent with him he thought of the angel as a bit more human. 

“I can show you?” Castiel didn’t sound confident in his decision. 

“I mean if it doesn’t get you in too much trouble.” 

“Maybe,” that slight grin again “But I want to show you.” 

Dean smiled at the angel in front of him. He wasn’t all evil and malicious as they made angels out to be. In fact, Dean would even go as far as to call him quite adorable, he would immediately have to kill anyone who heard him say that though. 

“You might want to sit back a little,” Castiel still looked a bit nervous. 

Dean scooted backward on the log he was sitting on. He wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. 

But it sure as hell wasn’t anywhere near what he was seeing in front of him.

He was absolutely taken aback, as Castiel’s wings were definitely bigger than he expected, it was a good thing he told Dean to move, and still, Dean had to move even further away to take it all in. He couldn’t believe his eyes, there he was, Cas, looking as small as he ever saw him, in the middle of those wings - Dean figured it was a wingspan of at least eleven feet. 

His wings were pitch black against the moonlit sky, but at the same time, they seemed to radiate as every individual feather seemed to reflect the colors of the lake, as if they were made out of tiny rainbows - Dean thought they looked exactly like the color of asphalt after it rains. It used to amaze him how black could turn into so many colors, until Sam had to ruin it and explain how the light refracted and scienced his amazement away. But this so much more magnificent, he felt as if he was looking at something he wasn’t supposed to, like the beauty of these wings was something he’d have to keep forever, just his. It almost felt divine, and in a way, he guessed it kind of was. 

It wasn’t until Castiel shifted uncomfortably that Dean realized he was staring. Full-on mouth wide open staring in awe at his wings. 

“They’re beautiful,” Dean said before he could stop himself. He quickly directed his gaze upon the lake, but he was sure he saw a slight blush on Castiel’s face. 

“Thank you,” the angel shuffled on his feet and Dean could see the wings disappear again from the corner of his eye, in a rustle that he knew all too well, but was seeing for the first time.

He kept his eyes on the lake and watched as his own breath became visible in the cold night sky. 

“Can I ask _you_ something?” Castiel said, breaking their silence. 

Dean finally turned back to the angel, who had sat down on the other end of the log.

“Shoot”

He didn’t know why he let himself relax again in Castiel’s company, or why he kept letting his guard down. But at the same time, there was no hostility in the air between them, there was nothing but kindness and respect for each other and it made Dean uneasy, because this wasn’t something he was used to, he’d never felt so drawn to anyone, and yet, so weary of the consequences. 

“Your necklace, what is it?” Castiel’s eyes dropped down from Dean’s face to his chest, where the brass pendant dangled from the black cord around Dean’s neck. 

Dean’s hand reached out to touch it, a small smile creeping up on his face at the memory of an 8-year-old Sam giving it to him on Christmas morning all those years ago.

“It’s a human superstition thing, it’s basically a good luck charm, supposed to ward off evil and sickness and all that stuff.” Dean let out a laugh, “can’t say it’s done me much good in that department, but my little brother gave it to me.” He didn’t know why he mentioned Sam again near the angel, he really shouldn’t. 

“The one I healed in the alley,” Castiel’s eyes found his. “You care a lot about him,” it wasn’t a question. 

“Yeah, of course I do, someone has to look out for the kid.” Dean cleared his throat, talking about his family with Cas didn’t sit well with him, it went against his every instinct, and he could still hear John's voice, clean as a whistle. 

“So, what about your amulet? Is it the real deal?” Changing the subject was safer. 

Castiel looked uncomfortable, Dean could tell by the way his eyes slightly narrowed, thinking to himself that the fact that he could tell was a sign that they’d been spending too much time together. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, he still wasn’t sure.

They both turned to the lake, watching as the moonlight reflected on the quiet water. 

“It’s customary for an angel to own an amulet, it has to do with our grace,” Cas seemed to catch himself before sharing too much information because his mouth turned into a thin life before he spoke again. “We don’t acquire them in Heaven, though, it’s not created with us.” 

Cas coughed and looked up at the sky, clearly eager to change the subject - this seemed like a common practice between them, which didn’t bode well. 

“It’s a beautiful sky tonight,” Cas commented as he looked up. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Dean followed his gaze. There were barely any clouds above them and even though it was cold outside the stars were clearly visible in the midnight sky. 

“You can really see all the constellations from here” Cas smiled, still looking up.

“The what now?” Dean looked at him, feeling a bit stupid for asking. He didn’t want Cas to think he was dim or anything, but this felt more like the kind of thing Sam would know, and he wasn’t like that, not book smart like Sam. He _should’ve just nodded along_ , he thought, trying to hide his embarrassment. But if Cas noticed, he didn’t make note of it.

“The constellations, they’re sets of stars, that resemble some design. There are millions of them, and they all have a name” Castiel explained innocently. 

“And you can see them? Right now?” Dean asked, a bit incredulous, as he looked up at the stars. They were beautiful, no doubt about it, but they just seemed so randomly placed to him. 

“It’s easy, if you know where to find them,” Cas smiled. “Here, you can see the Ursa Major- it’s Latin for what you may find referred to as the greater bear, ” he pointed to a group of stars above them.

Dean followed the direction, squinting his eyes in an attempt to see the so-called ‘greater bear’. There were so many little burning dots above them, but none of them resembled any kind of animal in his opinion. 

“How in the world is that supposed to be a bear, Cas?” Dean laughed.

Castiel turned to look at him, there was an expression on his face that Dean couldn’t quite place, but then it was quickly replaced by a smile. 

“You are looking Dean, but you’re not seeing.” The angel’s voice was soft and tender, the words felt like criticism, but the way he said it didn’t. “This is the problem, with you humans, you lack perspective” He chuckled lightly, “lay down”.

Dean felt confused at the order for a moment, still not used to them, but he followed Cas’ lead as he turned on the log, and lay his back against the wood. Dean mimicked him, laying down, his head slightly brushed against Castiel’s, their feet hanging from their respective ends of the log that was clearly too short for both men to lay completely. 

Dean opened his eyes and looked back up at the sky, following along Cas’ arm, and then his hand and his finger, all pointing stretched out towards the constellation - _there it was, he could see it now._

“Oh, wow” It was incredible, and Dean couldn't understand how he’d failed to see it at first, it was clear as day. “What else is up there?” He sat back up, and Cas looked amused, like watching a kid that couldn’t stand still, and sat back up with him. 

“Well,” Cas pointed over Dean’s shoulder, “look”, he whispered. “That there is the Cassiopeia,” he traced the invisible lines between the stars, and Dean tried to follow along, trying to focus on really seeing the design, but it was really hard to concentrate with Cas so close to him. It was actually damn near impossible because it felt as if his entire body was itching to lean into Cas. He could feel his breath ghost over his neck, sending shivers down his spine. Every muscle in his body tensed up as he resisted the urge to just shift a little closer, to feel the warmth of Cas’s body against his, in the cold. 

Cas stared at the sky, still moving his finger around, like was painting the stars himself. “You see it?” he asked, not looking away from the starry night. “Isn't it beautiful?” 

“It is,” Dean answered, almost in a whisper, but he wasn’t talking about the sky. In fact, he’d given up on watching the stars, and instead focused on the way Cas’ eyes shimmered, even in the dark, when talking about his little stars. They were so blue, and seemed to reflect the light cast by the moon. The lines that surrounded them made him think of the angel’s age, and even though he looked no older than Dean, while he knew Cas was thousands of years old - and in this moment, he felt almost honored to be here, sharing this moment with him. 

Castiel babbled on, oblivious to Dean’s gaze and his captivation. The way Cas explained every detail to him, and told him about the constellations and the greek heroes that named them, and sometimes Dean would make some sort of sound in agreement, just to let him know he was paying attention - he could listen to Cas talk about the stars all night. 

  
  


* * *

“Gabriel,” Castiel greeted his brother. The wooden floor of a boat churned beneath his feet with the current. That Gabriel always insisted on meeting in remote locations he could understand, but why they had to be so arbitrary he didn’t know.

“If it isn’t my favorite brother.” 

“Please, you say that about everyone” Castiel rolled his eyes, still trying to figure out where exactly they were. Water surrounded their long rowboat, a few miles ahead he could see the emerald green water slowly chiseling out a rocky cliff by crashing against it. “Where are we?” 

“Good morning, Vietnam!” Gabriel screamed at the top of his lungs, playfully. “You’ve never been?” 

“Not in a few hundred years.” Looking around, taking in the beauty of it. If there was one thing his brother knew how to do, was live his life. He had always been a little different from the other angels, always the odd one out. And Cas had always envied the way he could do it - spend months at a time down on earth, mingle with humans in a way that wasn’t approved, and find these gems - these places God had designed, every tree, every rock was meant to be right where it was. That was the thing with angels, most of them anyway - they didn’t stop to admire the beauty down here. Nature, humans, animals… they all had their place on God’s green earth.

“You know what I'm asking of you Castiel,” Gabriel started, his tone now somber and telling. For all of his persona, it was easy to forget he was an archangel, one of the first four angels created by God, and even though he’d always renounced any sort of power, they ought to owe him more respect. “It’s time to choose sides.”

What Gabriel asked of him went against his every instinct - he was talking about rebelling. Of course he would follow Michael, he had followed him for the better part of a thousand years, but now, when Heaven’s allegiances seemed to shift, and Metatron rose as a new leader, who was he to disobey? He was merely a soldier of Heaven, created to follow orders and never think for himself.  
  


For thousands of years he’d had no problem doing whatever was necessary, unpreoccupied with moral values and choices - that was never his job, his job was to do whatever he was expected to, he was a soldier in a war, a puppet on strings, heaven’s personal gun, fired in a direction and he’d shoot. He fought for Heaven whatever that might’ve meant. And now, Heaven was divided, angels having to make decisions they weren’t prepared to make, taking action into their hands, this was all headed down a dangerous path. 

“You know as well as I do, brother, that Metatron has no interest in freeing Michael. His aim is to start a never-ending war with humans. By proving to his followers that humans are merciless and will cross every boundary that has ever been set by Heaven.” Gabriel continued, looking him in the eyes, almost, Cas thought, as if trying to see into him.

This was a whole other situation. The humans. 

Castiel had been there for the first human civilizations, the greeks, the Romans, the Phoenicians, and the Mayans, and if ever was a time when he felt close to these creatures, it was now. He’d spent some time roaming among them, he’d tried their ways and customs, and he’d liked the way it felt to be among them. With every second he passed on earth, more emotions and feelings seemed to develop. It made it harder to think clearly, like a soldier, again. 

He tried to see the grand scheme of things, he tried to see humans as a whole again, as either something to protect or something to crush, but a problem itched in the back of his mind - a problem named _Dean Winchester_. Every time he thought about humankind, he couldn’t help but make it all about one man. 

“Are you prepared to see the entirety of humans turned into Metatron’s slaves?” Gabriel continued, inadvertently making his point and Castiel wasn’t ready for it. _He_ _couldn't let that happen, he wouldn’t,_ _not if he could do something about it._

“What do you need me to do?” 

Castiel wasn’t sure about any of this, all he knew was that he trusted Gabriel, and he trusted Michael. And he desperately needed to protect humans from heaven’s politics, all of them, humans didn’t deserve to die for this - _it isn’t what God would’ve wanted -_ at least it’s what he told himself, to justify all he was about to do, ultimately he knew in the bottom of his being, this desire to save humanity came from the desire to protect _one man._

“We are going to free Michael from the city,” Gabriel said with determination. “And your new pet human is going to help us.” 

* * *

  
Dean tossed and turned, not wanting to open his eyes just yet. He could feel the soft pillow underneath his head and the blanket on top of him was doing a nice job at keeping him warm. For a second he relished in the warmth of the bed- until his brain processed it. His eyes shot open and he sat up, it took him a second to realize where he was. He was in the cabin, he was in the same cabin, the same cabin where he had spent many nights getting away from life at home. The problem was, however, that he didn’t remember getting there in the slightest. 

He let his body fall back down and glanced around the room - no one. 

The thought made its way into Dean’s mind, at first, timidly, just an idea of the angel, taking him here. And then, more vividly, preoccupying with everything that entailed - he’d fallen asleep, that was for sure, back at the lake, and Castiel had to have carried him here, _how else?_

And this wasn’t the first time, either. Castiel had carried him back to this exact spot, when he got jumped by the werewolves, and even though Dean had never given the process much thought, he now realized this had to have taken time - healing Dean, and watching him. He didn’t know why Castiel had done any of this, why he kept showing up, why Dean had piqued his interest, not that he was complaining. The idea of the angel watching over him reminded him of something his mother used to tell him when he was little, way before angels turned out to be assholes _“Angels are watching over you”._

Dean was used to being alone, it had never really bothered him, but as of recently, he felt lonely. He’d never felt so distant from his brother, from whom he’d never kept secrets before, and even his dad, with all his anger issues, had always been company Dean was glad to keep. But now, every second with them felt like something might slip, and every second spent alone, gave way to this empty, hollow feeling inside, and a longing for someone to be there, talking with him, and day after day, the someone he felt was missing, was beginning to be always the same one. 

It was times like these he wished he could go to his mother for advice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading chapter 8, as always I hope you enjoyed! Please leave your thoughts in the comments, I love reading them. A huge shoutout to the most amazing beta I could ask for, aka Fred, my amazing friend and talented writer! And again check out wantstoflyafraidtofall on Tumblr for more of their amazing art. I also wanted to add that this chapter has a little nod to a fanfic I wrote years ago! It’s called The stairs sail to the moon, just in case you ever came across that unknown little story and thought you recognized something :)


	9. Chapter 9

_“To burn with desire_

_and to keep quiet about it_

_is the greatest punishment_

_we can bring on ourselves.”_

-

_Federico García Lorca_

* * *

“Hey man,” Sam let himself fall on the sofa, looking up at Dean, who sat at the kitchen table, cleaning his shotgun. “Where have you been? I feel like I never see you these days.”

“Huh?” Dean looked over at his brother, startled. “What do you mean? I’m right here, dingus.” He knew he couldn’t keep dodging Sam’s questions, but what would he tell him? _Hey, I’ve met this angel dude with whom I just spent the night staring at the sky?_

“C’mon Dean, you know what I mean. You know you can talk to me, right? I’m not dad, I’m not gonna tell you to drop your life for us.” 

Dean knew he was right. They’d always been there for each other, he could always count on Sam. But this was different, he was trying to protect him from the thing he wanted to tell him about. “Yeah,” he sighed, putting the gun down for a second, eyes locking with Sam’s. “I just -” maybe he could tell him something, leave out the angel part. But what would he tell him? The inside of his head was a mess, he couldn’t even tell himself anything coherent, let alone share it with his brother “- I can’t Sammy, I wish I could, but right now I can’t.” He gave him an earnest look from across the room and hoped to God that Sam would understand. 

Sam just nodded, resigned, and Dean felt a knot form in his gut and knew he couldn’t keep letting this distance set between them, but for the time being, he just continued to wipe down the barrel of the sawed-off shotgun. 

The sound of a car pulling up to the driveway disrupted his thoughts, and he saw Sam sit up straighter on the couch, from the corner of his eye. 

John walked through the door, dropping his bag on the floor next to the couch, and greeted his kids. He seemed to be in a good mood, and Dean felt a wave of relief wash over him as he couldn’t deal with yet another fight.

“Jesus boys, how many times have I told you to not lay around like this.” And the good mood lasted a whole of five seconds. Dean ignored the way his dad directed the words towards both of them, he was used to it by now. “Sam, you should get dressed,” John ordered. “I actually need your help with something.” 

Sam gave Dean an inquisitive look and walked upstairs to get dressed. Dean just sat where he was, waiting for his dad to ask him for his help too. He didn’t. It’s not like it bothered Dean, but he just felt like he was being punished for something his dad didn’t even know yet. 

When Sam returned, freshly showered and put together, John gave him a duffel full of old books. Usually, they weren’t supposed to leave the library, but he guessed his dad could pretty much do whatever the hell he wanted anyway. 

“I need you to find anything you can regarding angels and prophecies. Any omens of things to come, you write it down and give it to me, get it?”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of angels. It was the first time his dad had them get involved in this, which was normally a big no-go. What was going on?

“And no blabbing your mouth around town about any of this, it stays just between us three.” John looked at Dean when he said this, seemingly including him in the conversation. 

“Why? What’s wrong?” Dean risked, hoping John was in a chatty mood. “Did something happen?” 

“We’ve talked about this, Dean. Just, for once, do what I tell you to do, you don’t always need to question every damn order.” And with this last displeased grunt he left, again, as abruptly as he came in.

Shortly after their dad left, Sam started his research, and Dean immediately turned his attention back to his gun cleaning task, losing himself in thoughts of angels and hunters. Something was clearly about to happen, his dad had never given them any sort of job to do with angels, as far as John Winchester was concerned, the further his children could stay away from these creatures the better - and yet, here they were, tapping into books that were off-limits, lore on angels. With what purpose? He thought nothing had happened in 30 years. 

“Hey, get this,” Sam said, nodding toward the open book. “Originally in lore, angels were supposed to be protectors of humans, the tethers between humans and God.” Sam sat in the living room, books spread out all over the dining table. It’d been half an hour of silent studying before he finally spoke, and all that time, Dean had been waiting for him to say something, just so they could talk ábout whatever was going on.

“Then what the hell happened there?” Dean knew that this wasn’t how angels were perceived nowadays - it’s not what they learned in school. They were taught that angels were dangerous creatures of immense power and little to no moral obligations, that they were jealous of humans for being God’s most perfect creation, made in His image, and given this entire planet, while they were forced to remain hidden for centuries.

“So apparently angels and hunters even struck a deal at one point, since they were both after the same thing, keeping people safe.” _Sam was good at this_ , Dean thought, he’d always been good at research and Dean just never gave it much thought - he knew what was out there and he knew how to kill it and that was all there was to him. Except now, he found himself getting dragged deeper and deeper into something he had no knowledge of, just bits and pieces of information passed down to them, that every day seemed to stray further from reality and left him confused and weary on how to handle himself.

“Yeah, well they’re doing a pretty fucked up job so far,” Dean huffed. Not letting his mind trail back to the exception he knew was out there. 

“As it turns out, some hunters ended up not keeping their end of the bargain, started killing rogue angels here and there, and they just went berserk after that” Sam explained, leaning back on the chair to check Dean’s reaction.

“Huh, figures,” Dean mumbled, earning a weird look from Sam _who apparently had the hearing of a blind dog._

“Did you just say ‘figures’?” Sam’s eyebrows shot all the way up his forehead. “Dean, you’d probably be the first one to do the same thing. That’s what our whole family does, we hunt and kill monsters.” That was true. Or, it had been true for a long time. Now, the whole shoot first, ask questions later philosophy was stashed away inside him - he hadn’t shot Castiel, and he still didn’t have many answers to the million questions he had. Some of it was his fault, he knew, when instead of asking him necessary questions he’d pondered about wings and halos. 

“But angels aren’t exactly monsters though, are they? Or at least, they weren’t supposed to be.” He couldn’t see everything so black and white anymore. Cas, he was pretty sure, was no monster and it made it hard to believe that all other angels were. Maybe they just had a bad reputation. Once again, all those classes made their way back to him - _how much of it was even true?_

“What? I thought you hated angels even worse than demons? Didn’t you use to say that you were able to understand demons better, because at least they were clear on their motives?” Sam was getting visibly vexed at Dean’s position on angels. He was usually the one to rationalize and try to have perspective on people, on monsters. However, this was going to have to be just another thing to add to the list of Dean’s long-kept secrets.

“Yeah, well, can’t a guy question anything anymore these days? I’m not so sure about everything we’ve been taught.” Dean sighed. “I think Dad, Bobby, the older generation of hunters, isn’t telling us all there is to this. I mean, you just said, hunters were the ones to blame in this war” If Sam started to question everything as he was doing, maybe he wouldn’t feel so wrong in what he was doing. _What was he doing anyway?_

“Yeah, but I’ve never sworn to destroy every angel that crosses my path, I’m just confused this is coming from you, that’s all.” Sam shrugged.

“Don’t get me wrong, if they’re evil sons of bitches, they have to go down and I’ll be the first to stop them, but, what if they’re not? Evil, I mean.”

“But how do you suppose we’d know the difference? It’s not like they’re just flying around offering their side of the story” Sam got up from his chair, making his way closer to Dean in the kitchen, his interest in the conversation a mix of incredulity at Dean’s thoughts and of wondering about these creatures “And if they were I bet they wouldn’t be willing to simply have a heart to heart with one of us.”

“Maybe not with you, I’m a joy to be around,” Dean offered a laugh, in a desperate attempt to not sound compromised. 

“Yeah, I think you’d be the last person an angel would want to be around,” Sam’s banter hit him a little too close to home, and he felt a pang in his chest. He knew his brother was joking, but this was actually something he’d thought over and over again - that he wasn’t worthy of being around an angel, except, every time he was, that feeling disappeared completely, only to creep away again in the night, leaving him to question why this was happening to him, of all people.

Every day it was getting harder to separate things. To think about angels as their enemy and to think about Castiel, as possibly a friend. Would he even consider Castiel a friend? He’d like to think so, but then, what are social norms between different species? How was he to figure out how he felt about these celestial beings, if he was possibly being influenced by his feelings toward simply one of them. Feelings that he was having a hard time describing even to himself, feelings that kept him wide awake at night and had never been clear to begin with. 

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Dean’s voice sank a little lower, almost as if sharing a secret. “Amuse me for a second - if you were, you know, able to actually meet an angel and you figured, hey they’re not so bad, or whatever - what would you do?” He had to know, was what he was doing so terrible? For his dad, absolutely, he was sure of it, but to Sammy? 

“Dean, what’s going on? Is there something you’re not telling me?” Sam bent a little closer to Dean, a soft expression on his face as if to say it was okay to talk to him, that he would never judge him. 

“No, of course not. You know what, nevermind”

* * *

Dean stood outside the motel door for what felt like an eternity, but in reality, it couldn’t’ve been more than a few minutes. His fist, balled, hovered over the door for a while, before he could bring himself to knock. After his talk with Sam about his research, he just _had_ to talk to Cas, which seemed to happen more often than Dean would have liked. 

He remembered that night, sitting on the sidewalk of some sleazy motel, deciding he needed to see Castiel, just to be sure there was nothing there, nothing but a somewhat weird, secret, friendship between a hunter and an angel. The last time he’d seen Cas, though, at the lake, he felt himself get closer to this being, and at the time it was easy enough to let his guard down, to get closer, and to let himself be _wrong._ Even so, as he woke in the next morning, alone in the cabin, everything seemed so distant again, and he could make Cas smaller, small enough to fit in a little box in the back of his mind. And there, stored away, Dean saw him as a friend - but now, he needed to take Cas out of this little box, and let him stand right in front of him. He needed to ask him questions, he needed answers, and he desperately needed not to feel a damn thing that would get in the way of that.

Because if Sam was right, and angels were originally supposed to be the protectors of humans, that meant there was _hope._

He drew a breath, and knocked, ignoring the way his heartbeat accelerated rapidly. 

The door flung open, revealing Castiel. “Hello, Dean” 

“Hey Cas,” He walked in as Cas stepped back into the room. He wore a pale greenish button-up, and a pair of jeans Dean could easily identify as his own. Giving it an inspecting look, he also figured that the angel was also wearing his shirt, he just wasn’t used to seeing it over bare skin - Dean used it mostly to layer between a t-shirt and a jacket.

“Oh, you must want these back” Cas stated when he noticed Dean’s eyes looking him up and down. 

“Keep them” Dean half smiled at him “They look better on you, anyway” The words just spilled out of his mouth, as if he had no control over them, all his reason out the window. He looked down, steadying himself, reminding himself he’d come here with a purpose.

Cas mumbled a ‘thank you’, avoiding eye contact with Dean, who had, no doubt, flustered him. 

“Can we talk? ” The seriousness in his tone clearly took Cas by surprise, but he nodded in agreement. “I have questions Cas, and as much as we can pretend that we’re just a couple of normal guys, you’re not normal, I mean- you’re an angel, and there are these questions I just can’t keep avoiding.” Dean’s voice sounded almost apologetic, he didn’t want to put him on the spot.

“Yes, that’s true,” Cas replied matter of factly. “What do you want to know, Dean?”

Dean raised his eyebrows, he hadn’t thought that the angel would give in this easily. He had been prepared to use all the probing techniques he knew, to make Cas answer all the burning questions that were constantly on his mind. Like how had the angels gone from the humans’ protectors to their enemies, how had they turned a co-operation into a deadly feud? 

“I need to know more about Heaven, I need to understand, Cas I _have_ to understand because all I know, everything I thought I knew, doesn’t make sense anymore and I can’t stand it.” Dean looked at Cas, his eyes almost pleading. “Because Cas, every second I spend with you I doubt - everything they taught me, all of it Cas, you make me question the entire way I was raised, and I fucking hate it”

“Dean,” Castiel looked more contrite than Dean had ever seen him. “What you must understand is that Heaven is not what you hunters make it out to be. It’s not unity, it’s politics.” Cas sighed, tiredly. “It wasn’t always like this, though. When God first created the earth, the humans, it was his pride and he wanted every angel to love them just as much as he did. But for thousands of years, we have been left to fend for ourselves, and some angels feel it’s time to question the original orders. You see, angels aren’t without flaw. Some of us might be willing to continue our father's mission but others, they are out to seek power for themselves.” Castiel paused, looking as if trying to decipher Dean’s reaction. “Heaven is divided Dean, but there are still some of us who would fight for you, who would die to protect our Father’s greatest creation.” His right hand had traveled to lay on top of his heart, in what Dean could only interpret as this physical demonstration of earnestness. 

Dean couldn’t help but feel taken aback by the completely honest answer. He didn’t expect Cas to tell him much, but he was grateful to know that coming over here, trusting he would help him understand, hadn’t been for nothing. Castiel had always been vague about everything Heaven-related, understandably so, but this was not the time for compassion. 

“Who is doing it?” Oh, Dean was pushing it and he knew it. “Who is leading the angels against us?” 

“I-” Castiel closed his mouth again quickly like he changed his mind midway through talking. “If I were to tell you, there would be certain risks that even I wouldn’t be able to protect you from.” 

“I’m a big boy, Cas, I can take care of myself,” as Dean said it he knew they were both very aware of how unlikely it was that he would walk away intact, from a fight with an angel. 

The angel looked at him with what looked like pity, but there was also something else in his eyes, was it praise, empathy? Maybe Dean was imagining it, for all he knew Cas could think he was crazy for saying these things. 

“Alright, I will tell you, but I need you to do something for me.” Castiel looked as unsure of his words as ever, and he refused to look Dean in the eye. 

“What is it?” Dean wondered what the angel could possibly ask from him.

“We-” I need your help,” He rephrased halfway through, as if deciding that this was between the two of them - that if Dean would help anyone, it would be Castiel.

“What is it Cas?” What could possibly be so bad that it was making Castiel look even more uncomfortable than normal? The way the angel looked at him made him feel completely uneasy, he knew for certain he wouldn’t like what was coming.

“There’s something that has to be done in order to save your city, in order to make sure this leader doesn’t get what he is after, and you have to trust me.” With the angel’s last words, he finally looked up - there it was, Castiel needed him to trust, what the angel failed to realize was that he already did. 

“What is he after? Cas you gotta give me more than this, man.” Dean struggled to squeeze every last drop of information he could, knowing that Castiel wouldn’t tell him any more than he needed to know.

“We’re not sure yet, but it doesn’t bode well for your kind. We believe that someone is feeding false information to your city. Whoever it is, they must be stopped.” 

This was the setting stone in Dean’s gut feeling - he had been right - something was going on, something was about to happen. And maybe his dad didn’t even know that yet, maybe no one did. The idea that there was someone working against them, spreading false intel, was dangerous, and he knew he had to find out exactly what was going on, before deciding if, and who, had to know. This knowledge weighed on his shoulders, and he had to decide, fast, if he trusted what Castiel was telling him, if he was not the enemy and someone else was, he had to help him. He would have to do whatever it took to keep his family, his city, safe. 

“What do you need me to do?” 

Castiel took a step back, turning to look out the window. There he stood, his back now turned to Dean and the hunter could feel he had reached his limit, he could feel him shift uncomfortably, wanting to tell him everything, but being conflicted in doing so, and with that, Dean could relate, he finally looked at Castiel with seeing eyes - they were both soldiers in a coming war, apparently on opposite sides, but every day defying orders, based on the trust they felt for each other. 

“I can’t tell you what to do, there is something you must see first before you decide, but you must see this for yourself.” 

* * *

He kept replaying the conversation he'd just had with Castiel. _You must see for yourself and decide…_ Couldn’t he for once, just not be so cryptic? What did he mean, what did he want him to see? 

Dean's elbow rested out of the open window of his precious car, letting the wind hit his face, appreciating the refreshing breeze against his skin. He was driving back into town after the talk, and a million thoughts ran through his mind. The most important of which, finding the mole. Someone inside the city walls was working against them. Couldn’t be an angel, Dean figured, because of the warding - but who the hell could it be, and why? What could a hunter possibly have to gain with this? 

If this was a normal situation, his next step would be to talk to Sam and Bobby, but there was nothing normal here, and they would have questions to which Dean didn’t want to - _he couldn’t_ \- answer. So, for now, he had to do this on his own, at least until he could gather any proof that he could give them, without implicating Cas and himself. 

All he knew was that whatever he decided to do, the answer to Cas’s unnecessarily enigmatic last words, had to be waiting for him at the command center, so that was where he was headed. 

Dean had been there countless times, he knew the command center like the back of his hand. However, there were secrets hidden in there that even he didn’t know anything about. His heartbeat fastened as he got closer to the entrance, normally this wouldn’t faze him, but this was different. He was actively looking for something that could be wrong, or actively looking for trouble like his dad would say. If he got caught he would simply play it off as looking for his dad, even though Dean knew very well his dad was outside the walls right now. Nothing bad was going to happen, he tried to convince himself.

He walked inside, trying to blend in with the other hunters in the room, which wasn’t proving to be difficult since all plaid and green colors seemed to fuse into one big blur. He kept his head down as went to slip past the guards to enter the long hallway, a firm hand collided with his chest. 

“Where are you going, Dean?” Don, an older hunter who guarded the most high-level zones, looked at him with suspicion. He was about his dad’s age and he knew they weren’t friends exactly, but still, he had to be careful with what he’d say.

 _Quick,_ Dean thought _, think of something._ “Oh, I just needed to get my dad’s journal, he left it here by accident and he needs it in his hunt.” Dean knew this was a stupid excuse, Jonh would never have left it behind, and even if he did, he would have never sent Dean to get it.

“That doesn’t sound like John” Don squinted as if trying to picture John Winchester needing a journal to wrap up a hunt. “What’s he hunting?” 

“Yeah, you know how it is, the old noggin just ain’t what it used to be.” Dean forced a laugh, hoping to god this guy would just let him get on his way “Didn’t _you_ lock yourself out of your cabin last week?” He playfully punched him in the arm, but the man still looked at him inquisitively, clearly not finding this age remark funny, so Dean tried to answer his question. “A wraith, nasty things - he just wanted me to check some details on an old case, he thinks it may be the same monster.” 

The guard didn’t look pleased, but he appeared to buy it for now, or at least he didn’t seem in the mood to argue with Dean. “Just be quick about it, son ” he nodded and stepped aside, letting him pass. 

Dean reached out to pat Don on the shoulder, “Thanks man, he owes you one.” He hoped this guy wouldn’t think to collect from John, or Dean was toast.

He quickly moved along the hallway, trying to ignore the shudder that was building up under his skin. He knew this was gonna come back to bite him in the ass sooner or later, but right now he couldn’t afford the luxury of caring. He tried to think of where to go next, _what would Cas have wanted him to see?_

And suddenly it hit him, how it wasn’t completely and utterly obvious before Dean didn’t know. He knew exactly where he had to go, but he also knew exactly how hard it would be to get there.

He’d have to be quick about it, if any one of his dad’s friends recognized him anywhere near the box it would cost him a lot more than just a strongly worded argument, and he wanted to avoid that at any cost. He quickened his pace, trying to remember where the box was located in the building since he’d only been there once. Dean’s eyes skimmed through the corridor, counting the doors as he walked past them, mentally remembering which was which - armory, storage, first aid, storage, library.

He opened a few doors along the way, carefully, just a small crack to peek inside, just to check if he wasn’t mistaken. Most of them were used for storage, and some didn’t even hold anything. He briefly wondered why every door appeared to be unlocked when hunters were known for their suspicion and precautions, but then again, it’s not like they were worried other hunters were doing what he was doing right now. A pang of guilt made him swallow in dry, but Dean quickly shook the feeling aside.

Dean knew he was looking for a set of stairs that led down into the basement of the facility. Any second now, he’d be face to face with the captured leader of the angels, a celestial being of great power, who’d been trapped for a while now, probably being tortured every day as the hunters tried to gather information. Dean’s heartbeat sped up as he heard footsteps coming closer, there were at least two sets of them, approaching him fast. He quickly opened a door to his right, sighing with relief when it appeared to be open, quietly slipping inside the dark room to wait them out.

He scanned around the room, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness as his heart slowed down enough for him to breathe normally again.

The room was filled to the brim with shelves, holding everything from books to scrolls, and thin glass vials filled with questionable substances. Half burned candles were scattered throughout the room, dry wax dripping from one shelf to another here and there, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder what the room was normally used for. 

The moment he could no longer hear the footsteps he was out of the room,he made a mental note to return and take a closer look at the flowers, something felt off about them, but now there was no time to lose. He turned a corner which led to a dead-end, only a single door, on the opposite wall, in front of him - this had to be it. 

For a moment Dean’s hand hovered above the door handle, not sure of what to expect when he opened it. He pushed away all the thoughts that made him want to turn around, _he had to do this._ With a big breath, he lowered the handle, but the door didn’t budge. _Great_ ...Out of all the doors, this was the only locked one, _typical_. Luckily, he knew better than to show up unprepared, he fished the lock pick out of his jacket, if there was anything he could do, this was it. He’d been the one to teach Sammy how to do it, and he was yet to find a lock he couldn’t open. Still keeping an ear out for any footsteps, he crouched down and started on the lock. He opened the small leather case where he kept the tools on the floor next to him, waiting to pick the right one once he’d gotten a good look of the lock - it seemed to be a standard, turn of the century, American lock. Once he got to work, his knees started to ache as it took a lot longer than he’d predicted, and the sweat trickled down his forehead, each second passing making him more anxious someone would catch him. 

He was almost done when he heard a sound down the hallway. For a moment Dean thought about running back to hide but decided against it, there wasn’t enough time. He focused back on the lock and with one final wrist-flicking motion, it finally opened. Quickly pulling the door open, he stepped inside, closing it behind him, as to not raise suspicions. 

A set of stairs appeared almost beneath his feet. Dean made his way down, in the dark. At the end of the stairs, a small hall was equipped with all the interrogation device essentials one could ever need, laid out on a table, and all sorts of medieval torture-looking instruments in shelves, decorating the space. In the furthest wall, an iron door was inscribed with angel warding and a small, head-length, sliding wicket. 

Dean knew what was on the other side, or, at least, he thought he did. This was it. This was what he’d been wanting to see for months, but the once hunter-like curiosity was partially clouded by the fact that he knew an angel, well he was actually friends with one, that was still hard to admit even to himself. And this prisoner, captured by his fellow hunters, also happened to be this friend’s leader.

He slid the wicket to the side, revealing the box - no windows, no beds or toilets, no metal bars, and only one way in. It was completely surrounded by hand-painted sigils and heavy iron chains. There was one piece of furniture in the middle of the room, a simple iron chair, where a dark, slumped-down figure sat, feet shackled, and dirty clothes, stained with blood. 

“Ah, I wondered when I would have the pleasure to meet you, Dean,” The figure spoke, his head heavy, eyes on the floor beneath “I have been waiting for you to stop by.” 

Dean furrowed his brow, in confusion, _how in the hell_ did this angel know his name? And even more disturbing, how did he know Dean was coming? 

“Michael,” Dean greeted him, careful to look around to ensure no one was listening. The room was empty and silent, the only door to the corridor, behind him. Iron bars separated the hunter from the angel, who sat in a chair, in the middle of a sigil carved into the ground, filled with holy oil and set afire. The blue fire burned low to the ground, Dean supposed some sort of spell kept it alive. 

“I thought you would look more like your father,” The prisoner looked up, locking eyes with him. 

The mention of his father took Dean by surprise, his arms crossed over his chest, and he took a step forward, to stand closer, looking down on the angel. “What do you know about my father?” 

“Oh, did he not tell you? We are getting rather close, you see, with the amount of time we spend together.” The way Michael spoke, softly and slow, left Dean uneasy. “And he has told me all about his favorite soldier boy - _you_ .” And there it was, the _coup de grace_ \- his father had been telling the enemy about _him?_

“What the hell are you talking about?” Anger rose inside Dean, his hands reaching for the iron bars.

“He tells me all kinds of things about you.” An eerie chuckle echoed around the room. 

“And why don’t I believe you right now?” Dean said through gritted teeth. He knew there was no way that Michael was making all of this up right now, he knew Dean’s name _for crying out loud._ But it didn’t mean that the angel couldn’t be lying about some things, he knew his dad wouldn’t betray his family that easily, would he?

“That would be because of your feud with angels. You never want to accept whatever diverges from your beliefs. I, on the other hand, am above such internal conflicts, so I have no reason to lie to you, Dean. What could I, possibly, have to gain from it?” A small pause allowed Dean to tilt his head, getting a better look at Michael, through the shadows. “My hands are already tied.”

The angel’s way of speaking felt really out of place for the way he looked, his body slumped on the chair, tied up in iron shackles with dried-up blood covering almost the entirety of his face, and yet, he spoke as if he was addressing an audience, clean as a showman. 

“Yeah, well, I bet you bastards have a million reasons for whatever the hell you want” Dean didn’t know whether to believe Michael but he damn well knew he couldn’t show him any hesitation, or this conversation would be over before it even started, and he still hadn’t figured out what Castiel had wanted him to.

“I don’t expect you to believe me, Dean. You see, I have been around long before humans were even considered, I have watched you grow, I watched you evolve and I have stood idly by as you slaughtered one another in cold blood. So if you want to feel special and misunderstood go right ahead, but do not for one second think that I don’t know everything there is to you.” Michael spoke the words as if they were foul, but he never lost his temper. 

Dean bit his tongue, there were many things he wanted to say and many insults came to mind, but he figured it’d be best if he just didn’t say them out loud. He had imagined this conversation with Michael in his head countless times but never had he thought it would have gone anything like this. 

“For argument’s sake, let’s say I believe you.” Dean really needed him to keep talking. “Why on earth, would my father tell you fucking anything?”

“Information, of course.” Michael's lips curled into a smile. “Your father was the expert they called to extract information from me, and when his ways failed, obviously, he asked me if there was anything that would make me talk, any information that would make me spill all of Heaven’s secrets.” 

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise, but his face caught up in disdain, his dad _would never do that, he would never sell his own family out like this._ He stayed silent, unsure of what to say, so Michael just continued, “Of course what I had to tell him, wasn’t at all what he wanted to hear, and so he kept offering me information, waiting for something that, truth be told Dean, I never possessed.”

“What did he want to know?” The way this supposed leader of angels spoke of his father made Dean believe him more by the second, the way Michael was describing John’s frustration hit a little too close to home for someone who’d never experienced it first hand. Selling out his own son for results? While Dean didn’t want to believe it to be true, he actually wouldn’t put it past his dad.

“He wanted to know about the angel’s next attack,” Michael sighed “But as I told him, a few hundred times most probably, there is no next attack planned. We have no interest in mingling with humans, we haven't for decades. Well, at least not in any way that you need to be worried about.” 

Dean could easily understand why that response would drive Jonh crazy, he knew for a fact that his dad saw angels as an active enemy, hell all the hunters did. The worst part was that Dean was actually starting to see things differently, he started to realize that the angels, at least part of them, didn't like this current situation any more than he did. From what Castiel told him, there was an angel going rogue upstairs, but that was not the general consensus.

“The thing is, Michael, that there’s intel on the contrary, and where does that leave us? The leader of the angels, saying he knows nothing? You can understand how they don’t believe you.” If Castiel had told him the truth, and god, he wanted to believe he did, there was someone providing false information to the hunters, which meant that Michael was telling the truth, but that was a big _if._

“As I have tried telling your father multiple times, in between all the carving he seems to enjoy so much, I don’t have any say in what happened in Heaven after my disappearance, but the simple fact that I am yet not rescued, tells me a certain shift in politics has occurred.” His voice was louder now, Dean could tell he was getting at least a little worked up. “I am deliberately being kept here, imprisoned, while they work on bigger plans. Don’t you see I have no part in this?” His eyes, locked with Dean’s for the first time, staring intensely at Dean, waiting for something on his behalf - sympathy? 

“Then who is behind all this? I’m sure you have your suspicions,” A silence filled the room. Michael didn’t move a single muscle, there was nothing to tell Dean he’d even acknowledged his question. Why was Michael telling him all this, if he didn’t want him to know? What did Cas mean that Dean would have to decide? If Michael wasn’t the big bad they’d thought he was, who was? What was his role in all of this? The questions piled up, and there were little to no answers. “Answer me, god damn it.” 

The blasphemy caught Michael’s attention, and he stared at Dean, almost as if he was deciding if he was worthy of this knowledge. 

“What do I have to gain, telling you this, just to stay here in this putrid cell?” He spat in disgust, eyeing his surroundings. “I am an archangel of the Lord, I have created entire religions, I have sunk entire civilizations and here I sit in my own filth.” 

It was the first time that Michael had spoken with any type of emotion. And for a moment, Dean looked at him and he couldn’t see all of this, not a celestial being, just a man, shackled to a chair, looking like he’s seen better days, and he thought of Cas. How he was this entity far beyond his comprehension, who just presented himself to him in a human form. He let the idea of Castiel being the one sitting there, tied and hurt, travel through his mind, and he couldn’t stand for it. 

“Listen man…” If there was ever a time where Dean thought he was making the wrong decision, this was it. The mere thought of his father finding out about this, made his whole body tense up. But what did his old man know, anyway? He was wrong, he had no idea of what was really going on - if there was a power shift at play in Heaven, they would all pay the price, and the one being who could prevent it was sitting right there in the box. Still, it was a lot to process, there was a need for trust that he had never given anyone before. He had to trust Castiel, and he would have to believe Michael. “If you’re telling the truth, and the jury’s still out on that, what would you have _me_ do about it?” 

The angel looked at him through the iron bars. He glared at him, the intensity making Dean feel like a child again. 

“If what you say is true, and there is an attack planned, I am the only one who can put a stop to it. Alas, I cannot do it from here.” Michael tilted his head, in search of a glimpse of understanding in Dean’s expression, and when he couldn’t find it, he continued. “You need to help me get out of here.”

There. The words hung in the air like a heavy, wet blanket, over them, and Dean’s eyes slowly widened in sudden clarity - _was this why Castiel had sent him? To bust the angel leader out of jail? Was this what he wanted from him since the beginning?_

“You want me to bust you out?” Dean seethed, distrust clear in his voice now. “You seriously expected you’d give me all this talk and I’d buy every word, and happily help your ass out of Alcatraz?” He took a step back, creating more distance between himself and the prisoner, he’d _obviously_ gotten too close, close enough to let the angel manipulate him. 

“What I expect from you is not of import, Dean Winchester. It will happen, and I am a patient being.” The calmness in his claim was upsetting, and the hunter crossed his arms as if to raise a barrier of protection between them. “The need to free me lies on your side, as even though I do not wish it, the striking of your people is of little import to me.”

The words made sense in his brain, nevertheless, the one who stated them was the cause of dismissal. Dean didn’t trust Michael as far as he could throw him. All he knew was that he needed to get the hell out of there, before falling prey to this brainwashing, before he accepted the one thing he knew was the ultimate betrayal of his people. 

“Get fucked,” Dean spat at him, all the while turning his back to leave. As he walked back up the stairs he heard the disembodied voice ringing in his ears.

“I’ll be waiting, Dean.”

As Dean ran out of the building all he could feel was anger, anger towards his father, for basically selling him out to the enemy, angry at himself for almost giving in to Michael’s words, and mostly, angry at Castiel. His stomach twisted and turned at the idea that the angel had wanted this all along, that this was his end-game. _It was so painfully obvious now, wasn't it?_ There was no other reason an angel would get close to him in the first place. Dean had wondered over and over again why Castiel had chosen him, of all the humans, to manifest himself, and now he knew - this was why. He’d been played and the thought of his father’s _I told you so_ made him see red. _How could he have been so stupid? Idiot. Of course, this was happening to him, he’d let his guard down._

* * *

The bar was familiar enough. Dean was pretty sure he’d been before. Hell, he wasn’t sure where he was, he’d just kept driving past the walls - he just needed to have some distance between him and his world.

The background chatter and clinking of glasses helped him to clear his head, the bourbon in his glass helped too. 

A waitress made him a sign, wondering if he wanted a refill. 

“Just leave the bottle.” 

And she did. The bottle emptied into the glass, filling it until it was empty again and then he’d do it again. Dean let his anger boil just under the surface, drinking it away, thinking of what he’d say to the angel, how he’d make him confess. And his father… There was no way he could confront him without exposing himself, but he had no idea how he’d look him in the eyes after knowing what he did. How a man with such moral standards, supposedly, had tossed them all out of the window, giving the enemy all the ammo they needed to destroy his family? And for what? For intel on a war that always loomed, but never seemed to come? 

Half a bottle in, he decided to stop. 

He had to be clear enough to do what he needed to. In a quick move, he jumped to his feet, his bench almost falling over. He made his way out of the bar, through the backdoor, and into the alleyway. Dean looked around, just to be sure he was alone, and no one would think he was insane, and when he made sure there wasn’t a soul to judge him, he let his voice, hoarse from the liquor, echo through the street.

“Castiel! I need to talk to you.” It felt off, like his voice wasn’t his, he could hardly identify the name he spoke, ridden with such hostility, coming from his own mouth. “Get your feathery ass down here.” 

“Dean?” A ruffle of feathers behind him caught his attention. “Your call sounded very distressed, what’s going on?” 

“Is it true?” Dean blurted out. He’d mean to keep his anger at bay, giving Castiel a chance to speak, but it got the best of him. Well so much for giving him the benefit of the doubt. 

“Is what true? You’re not making any sense,” Cas’s voice was soft and relaxed, still no idea of the storm going on inside Dean’s head.

“Is it true you sent me there, thinking I’d just free Michael?” Dean’s hand tightened around the beer bottle in his hand, throwing it on the floor before it shattered in his hand, the crashing of the glass against the pavement ringing in both their ears. “Do you think I’m that stupid?” 

The way he hissed at him clearly surprised Castiel, his mouth opened a little, words forming and then disappearing before he spoke them. Dean figured he would be trying to lie his way out of this.

“Is that what you think of me?” Castiel’s voice sounded almost hurt, unlike what Dean expected from him. He’d half expected a dramatic speech trying to convince Dean how wrong he was, and ultimately for the angel to show his true colors and admit everything. “Why would you assume I sent you to free Michael?” Castiel’s brow furrowed, and for a second he looked honestly bewildered - but that _couldn’t be right_ , Dean knew that _he had to be lying._ The liquid courage swayed in Dean’s belly as he tried to see past the angel’s soft appearance.

“Don’t mock me, Cas!” He raised his voice, there was no way in hell he’d let this happen, no way he’d just let Castiel ridicule him, over everything else. _He’d been so stupid, so naive_. Again, his father’s voice filled his mind. _How did he let himself feel the way he did, how did he let his guard so down?_ The anger bubbled in resentment, a powerless and _pathetic_ half-sob echoed in the alley, as Dean yelled at the angel, unaware of the tears threatening to fall down his face. 

“Why would you think that?” The lines in Castiel’s forehead creasing, and his shallow breath didn’t register in the mess that was Dean Winchester at the moment.

“Because Cas,” Dean was confused, and even though he was furious and wanted to stay that way, his voice was small and pleading, with the alcohol making its way into his brain, everything was foggy, and the way Cas stared at him, so vulnerable, looking genuinely hurt made things exponentially worse. “What am I supposed to think, huh? You show up in my life, turn everything upside down, and now -” He looked around, his arms motioning to his surroundings “- here I am, contemplating the betrayal of everyone I know. Sounds like a successful plan to me.” The words purged out of his body, as all his doubts, all his questions finally made their way out, and he hated how it sounded, how _he_ sounded, he despised the way he must look in Cas’ eyes, like a child, whining and crying that he got tricked by the older kids, still, he couldn’t give a rat’s ass at the moment, he needed Castiel to hear him, and for better or worse, have him set the record straight.

Cas shook his head, in disbelief, his eyes squinting, head slightly tilting and a voice rose, as loud as Dean had ever heard him. “You think I haven’t put myself at risk by saving you? All the times you got yourself hurt and I had to heal you, and what about helping your brother when you asked me to? What do you think that Heaven will do to me when they realize I’ve been sharing their secrets with a human, even worse, with a _hunter?”_

Somewhere in his mind, Dean recognized the sudden shift in the angel’s speech - the way he backed away when he addressed him, the way he created all that space between them, calling him a hunter, as if this _hunter_ hadn’t been helping him for months now, and it reminded him of when they first met. He tried to shake the feeling it gave him, the nauseating feeling in his stomach when Castiel looked down on him, sounding so distant, so detached. 

“If that’s what you see when you look at me, a subspecies, an inferior…” His anger subsided completely, leaving behind a devastating tightness in his heart, the feeling of a piece that had set itself there, dislodging. “Then I don’t know what the hell we’re doing here Cas”

Castiel seemed to shut his eyes for a second as if gathering the patience to deal with him, and that notion was like a punch in Dean’s gut.

“You _are_ an inferior species Dean, that is not the point! The point is that even though you are, I have trusted you, I have shared with you matters that would have me killed. And to stand here, accusing me of things I have never considered,” In a split second Castiel’s whole body launched at him, pressing his arm against Dean’s chest, pinning him against the wall “- and you think, what? That I’ve been manipulating you? Is that what you think?” He’d lost his patience now, Dean had never seen him so angry, in fact, he had never seen him show this much emotion. 

“I am an angel of the Lord, a soldier, and strategist for Heaven, I have led armies through wars you can’t even begin to imagine, I’ve seen things that would haunt your worst enemy’s nightmares, and you think, that if I was manipulating you, you’d realize? And you’d have a chance to confront me?” A light chuckle erupted from the angel’s mouth, giving all this soliloquy a grimace to it, the air between them thick and heavy. Dean had never felt this petrified since the moment the angel first manifested himself, he had never felt so small, so impotent against this celestial being, his mind drifting to his school years, the notion of angels as terror-striking creatures of never-ending power. “Think again, Dean - if I wanted anything from you, I would have it by now.” 

And just like that, as fast as the rage had fallen upon him, Castiel’s demeanor alleviated, most likely satisfied to have made his point. 

Dean could feel the way the cold bricks pressed against his back as Cas withdrew his arm from the base of Dean’s throat. For a second the angel seemed to collect himself, taking a step back, allowing Dean to stand on both feet, regaining his balance. Castiel’s eyes, however, still carried the same hint of hurt in them as when Dean first accused him. 

A few minutes ago he’d been so certain of everything, of how he felt betrayed and how Castiel had been the one to do it. Now, the idea seemed to laugh in his face. After hearing Cas’s perspective he wasn’t so sure who had betrayed whom. The way there had been no explanation, no excuses felt more real to him than anything else the angel could have told him. Castiel had asked for trust, and at the first moment he’d taken it back, still, he didn't shove it in his face, he never accused him of anything, and that was how he knew he’d been wrong. 

Dean didn’t know what to say. And that was saying enough. He wasn’t the type to just have his ass handed to him and swallow his pride, but something told him he might be the one in the wrong here. He’d been so worried about his own feelings, he was afraid he’d hurt someone else.

“Cas, I-” 

“You don’t need to say it, Dean.” Castiel cut him off, clearly not interested in the shitty apology coming his way.

“Shut up, I’m not any good at this, but just, let me try.” Dean had to do something, Castiel had to understand, he’d have to forgive him, if he understood, “I guess I really deserved that”. A small, compromised half-smile painted the side of Dean’s face. 

He needed to find the words - the ones to tell him that every time he helped Cas, this voice in the back of his head - his dad’s voice -told him to get the fuck away from him, that he was being an idiot for trusting an angel - but they got stuck in his throat.

“It’s just hard to understand how an angel would want anything to do with a guy like me, how this isn’t some kind of ploy to betray me... ” His hands ran through his hair, unable to fully process the things he was saying, and how naked he felt standing in this alleyway, trying to tell the truth, for once in his life, no games, no jokes to hide behind. “And this doesn’t come easy for me, but for some reason, I know I can trust you, Cas. So… just bare with me, okay?”

Cas nodded in agreement before fully processing what he’d heard. “What do you mean a guy like you?” The way Cas looked at him, felt as though he was staring straight into his soul. A mixture of wanting to bury his head in the sand, and of wanting to just stay there, allowing himself to be seen, conflicted with his drunken mind. 

“A guy like me, you know,” Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe Castiel didn’t see him the way he was. “A screw up” 

Cas’s gaze never trembled, never quivered. Still looking _into_ him, as if trying to decipher what he had just said, as if he’d just blurted out the most preposterous thing. “Dean, you’re human, you’re not a screw-up.” He shook his head in disbelief “If anyone here is actively screwing up eons of his life… It’s me, not you.” A sad smile made the promise of appearance but immediately faltered. “But as I have come to realize, the thin line that separates screwing up, from evolving, isn’t as static as it may seem.” 

Cas reached out and lay his palm over Dean’s heart, causing it to flutter a little at the touch “This” He pressed against the fabric of the cotton shirt beneath his fingers, signaling to the beating inside his chest “Is what it means to be human, Dean. This courage to try and fail - that is why we need to do this, this is what makes humanity worth saving, and I needed you to figure this out by yourself, that’s why I sent you there. There was no masterplan, there’s no ploy - you needed to see we’re on the same side.”

“Michael” Dean remembered, trying to focus past the touch of the angel “Do you trust him?”

“With my life” 

“Well, you better trust him with mine too, if we’re really doing this.” Dean let out a nervous laugh. 

If they were _actually_ doing this, there was a lot to go over. Once the awkwardness of an emotional fit started to wear off, and Dean’s head felt clearer, he found himself in dire need of another drink. Cas accompanied him back inside, nodding along when Dean said they ought to be getting hammered, even though he wasn’t sure the angel could even experience the effects of the booze like he did. 

Even so, it was worth a shot. Dean ordered them tequila shots, as Cas tried to explain everything to him - the deal was, a shot for every piece of the puzzle. 

“Michael is a fair and just leader, who wants nothing to do with the war on humanity.” _Shot._

“An angel, Metatron, is the one causing this, he wants the rule of Heaven. With Michael gone, he gets a seat at the table, making the calls.” _Shot._

The angel downed them like they were water, and Dean who’d been drinking for hours, before, was having a hard time keeping up.

“We don’t know why he’s doing it” _Shot_

“We don’t know how information is being fed to the city” _Shot_

“Michael needs to be freed.” _Shot_

“And I need to be the one to do it” Dean laughed, the seriousness of the matter falling back on the copious amount of alcohol he’d downed at this point “Because you’re an angel and can’t get inside the walls” _Shot_ “I need to go behind my family’s back, and betray a city full of angry hunters with guns” _Shot, shot, shot._ “Fun”

A few shots later the Pátron bottle was dry, and Castiel still seemed pretty sober, especially next to Dean who was having trouble pronouncing words. The day’s emotions finally set aside, leaving him just full of booze and tired - _drinking with his friend, he was silly for having doubted him for a second - here he was, an angel of the Lord, getting shit faced with him in a crappy town’s crappy bar._

“Hey Cas, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” Dean’s words slurred a little and he couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. 

“What? I didn’t fall from Heaven, Dean,” Castiel looked about as done as could be expected. “That was my brother Lucifer.”

“I know, it’s just a classic pickup line.” Dean laughed at how clueless the angel could be, even if he found it amusing, more than annoying.

“What’s a pickup line?” The idea of having to explain to him what a pick-up line was, and why he’d just used it on him sent mixed signals into his hazy brain.

“You know when you want to pick up a chick-“ He decided to just drop it, he was too drunk for this. “nevermind”. 

“You’re drunk,” Castiel rolled his eyes, laughing at Dean’s failed attempt to produce entire sentences. “I’m taking you back.” 

A sober moment of lucidity flashed through Dean’s mind, remembering his father. “I can’t go home like this,” He thought of how unpleasant it’d be waking up, hungover, and having to deal with all this in the morning. “Can you just zapp me to the cabin?”

Within seconds they found themselves in the all too familiar cabin, Dean would probably never get used to the angel mojo being used on him, but once again he couldn't complain. The scent of fresh wood and pine filled Dean's nose and he sighed contently. The content slipped away as fast as it had come, everything around him was too tight, too hot. He felt the uneasy knot in his stomach, trying to suppress every possible question in his mind. What was the point of being absolutely shitfaced if he still couldn't drink away the thoughts that kept him up when he was sober? 

Dean felt the heat spread, his whole body aching to breathe – _that’s what he had to do, just take something off, it’d be fine. –_ He tried to shrug get out of his jacket, but it was proving hard to do, his arms weren’t cooperating as he needed them to, and his head felt heavy, his eyes heavier even, and the room kept spinning. Losing his balance he gripped whatever closest to him, which turned out to be Cas’s arm, who reacted by sliding his arm behind Dean’s back, supporting almost all his weight, like it was nothing.

Cas didn’t say anything as he helped Dean take off the leather jacket, tossing it onto the floor behind them with his free hand. Dean’s brow furrowed a little, watching the jacket hit the ground, immediately turning into an intoxicated grin.

“If you wanted to undress me, you know all you had to do was ask? - ” He laughed, his eyes closing for a second. “Castiel,” he made his voice sound deeper, trying to imitate Cas’s. “Angel of the lord,” he mocked him, and Cas rolled his eyes at the whole ordeal. “The most adorable angel in the garrison,” his voice back to normal, even if dragging the words a bit.

Castiel blushed at the statements, stepping back to create more space between them. And hey, Dean was drunk, and he found the sight of the blushing angel absolutely endearing. He could get lost in Cas’ red cheeks, and maybe he did, because he lost his footing and felt himself stumbling backward – he caught the sides of the angel’s jacket to hold him in place, both hands tugging at his coat and shirt, feeling his heartbeat in his knuckles. “Whoa”

“Can you stand still?” Cas made no effort to pull him up, his hand pressed against the low of Dean’s back again. Dean didn’t let go of the shirt and ended up just inches away from him. Cas’s voice was always so deep and raspy and Dean couldn’t help the way his blood traveled, below his belt. With every word Cas spoke, and with the way Dean felt the warm touch on his back, he was aching more for their skin to touch.

The warmth of the booze inside created a fake bravado, all of his doubts and fears suddenly washed away, the memory of their blowout, faint in the back of his mind, the only resemblance to where they were now was the closeness, except this time, he was anything but terrified, and he trusted the angel completely this time around.

It was just the two of them, standing so close, Dean’s eyes fell to Castiel’s mouth, his lips, just inches away and electricity ran through him. Giving up any discretion he held on to, Dean caved in some more, but this time on purpose, though Cas wasn’t able to tell the difference, the back of his shirt lifting, not so, accidentally, making it so that Cas’ fingers brushed directly on his naked back.

_Electricity._

And he couldn’t handle it anymore, the burning need in his every fiber begged to be closer to Cas, and Dean just had to oblige, pulling the fabric of the shirt – _the shirt he gave him_ – to press Cas against his own chest. 

* * *

Cas’s body followed the impulse and held on to Dean with both arms now - he felt as if his body was moving on its own, before he could stop himself he found his hands sliding across Dean’s back, feeling his skin beneath his fingers, hot to the touch. Every time Dean’s muscles tensed and flinched under his hands, Cas’s willpower faded just a bit more. 

He hadn’t meant for this to happen, but Dean was completely inebriated and, yet, incredibly persuasive - the way he touched him, the way he’d grabbed on to him almost let him forget how poorly he knew Dean thought of angels, how this man who stood before him now, completely soft and tender, smile smitten across his face, standing so close, leaning so hard, would never do this if he was sober. He knew this and understood it was his job to not let him do something he was certainly going to regret later, and still, he couldn’t force himself to back away. 

“Dean..” He tried, hoping that the simple mention of his name would remind him of who he was, and that he didn’t want this, that he should just tell him to go. Even though he thought this had to happen, he couldn’t do more than just wait, wait for a reaction that never came - instead, Dean’s expression turned serious, and just when Castiel thought he was about to send him on his way, he felt the calloused hands tighten the grip on his shirt, and he knew he was done for.

* * *

They breathed in one another, close as they stood. Dean’s arms slowly falling, fingers tracing every button on the shirt, until coming to rest on the leather belt around Cas’s waist, sliding his fingers back against his skin, folding over the belt, pulling him closer, until nearly every inch of their bodies were touching. Dean found it to be impossible, completely impossible not to give in. Before he could try and reason through his clouded brain, his instinct took over, and in a swift motion his legs managed to stand him upright, and his right arm came up to grab the back of Cas’ head in his hand, fingers grabbing ahold of his hair, pulling slightly, and finally letting his mouth clash with his - Cas’ body seemed to jolt from the sudden move, his arms reacting, shooting up, hands clinging onto the fabric of Dean’s shirt and the drunk hunter worried for a moment, waiting for a second to see if Cas would push him away, but he was pleased when the angel didn’t. 

With a body full of liquor, his tongue carefully tasting Cas’s lips, licking them before pushing past them and meeting his tongue. He pulled Cas closer, keeping their upper bodies tight against each other, Dean’s legs were trembling by this point, all his blood pooling in one place just inches away from Castiel’s groin. For a second Castiel’s body moved with his, slowly, and Dean felt him kissing back harder,– _so good, so good –_ their tongues tangled. He tightened his grip on Castiel’s hair but just as quickly as it had started, he felt the angel pull his lips away from him. 

“Dean,” he felt Cas' whisper against mouth, and the way the angel said his name made him weak.

Dean grunted in disappointment and frustration as he noticed Cas pulling away even further. Both of their breathing heavy and Cas’s lips were still red from his, Dean’s eyes couldn’t focus on anything else but those lips. 

“You’re drunk,” Castiel continued. _So what –_ Dean thought, it’s not like this wasn’t what he’d wanted to do every sober moment since they met.

“This isn’t right, we should stop.”

Dean looked up, Cas’s face showed more emotion than he had ever seen in him, he could feel himself sobering with every second that passed, and just wished time would stand still for a minute.

There were so many things on Dean’s mind, disorganized thoughts, the alcohol affecting his judgment, and every emotion just simmering under the surface, but the words of the angel stood out, cutting through his mind like a razor-sharp knife, ‘ _this isn’t right_ ’. And maybe he was right, but at the moment Dean’s mind couldn’t quite figure out _why,_ or how something that _felt so right_ , could be so wrong. 

“Fine, go then,” Dean snapped at him. The soft emotions and vulnerability he’d raveled in just in the last minutes gave way to an intense feeling of aggravation, the words Cas said echoing in his mind, leaving a burning, almost like a stabbing pain, clearly magnified by the bourbon. _If he wanted to leave so badly he should_ , why did Cas even come here in the first place if he couldn't _stand_ to be near to him. Why would he have him _make a fool of himself_ before blowing him off? 

“Dean-” 

“Go!” Dean shouted, turning away from him, staggering to the other side of the room. 

He only moved again once he heard the door close, looking at the spot where Castiel had stood a second ago. He just needed this day to be over - stumbling his way to the bed, he let himself drop down, face-first into the pillow - he just needed to sleep it off, all of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to another chapter, and yes it was another long one! There was some long-overdue angst in this chapter because well, this is a supernatural fic after all. As always I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I would love to hear your thoughts on it in the comments!
> 
> If you wanna be the first to get notified when a new chapter is on its way make sure to follow me on Tumblr @totallyxawesome.  
> Please feel free to send me a message on Tumblr, I would love to hear more about the people reading this fic.  
> I will also be posting previews to the new chapter every Sunday :)
> 
> Thanks again to my amazing friend and beta Fred, who you can find on Tumblr @deanqueerchester, honestly she's awesome and this story wouldn't be anywhere without her ♥


	10. Chapter 10

_If someone makes you feel,_

_let them._

_-reyna biddy_

* * *

The white corridor extended, as far as sight could reach. White marble floors made the sound of footsteps resonate, as angels made their way into their respective offices and meetings. Castiel greeted some of his brothers and sisters as he walked past them, this required a small nod to acknowledge each other, it was entirely different from the pleasantries that human relationships required.

“Are you on your way to the meeting?” He heard a voice from behind him while a hand grasped hold of his arm. 

“Hael,” Cas greeted his sister. “Yes, I am,” he nodded along. 

“Me too,” Hael fastened her pace to match with Castiel’s. “Metatron is a great leader, isn’t he? Who would have thought?” She smiled, and Castiel had to make an effort not to roll his eyes. But he couldn’t help but notice that this was the way angels were supposed to be, naive and used to following along, like ignorant sheep that had no clue when they were being led astray. 

They quickly arrived at the closed tall doors that separated them from the room where the meeting was about to start. Much to Castiel’s appeasement, seeing as he could feel the scrutiny in Hael’s eyes, waiting for him to agree with her. 

“We should go in, it would be rude to be late to our leader’s gathering.” Castiel opened the doors with haste, bright light flooding them for a moment, and then revealed the marble tabletop where many familiar faces sat around. They semi-bowed their heads in a greeting manner towards the lot of angels already sitting there, and made their way to their usual chairs.

Every meeting, it seemed new faces sat around this table. Castiel couldn’t help but worry at this evolution - more and more angels were pledging their allegiance to Metatron. He understood why, he couldn’t blame them. With Michael still imprisoned on earth, Gabriel not making any public advances, and no other viable options, Metatron’s garrison grew bigger every day, and the consequences of not joining him had started falling heavily upon the resisting angels. He knew there were still big players on the board who had yet to side with Metatron, but he also wasn’t entirely sure where they stood. 

The meeting went on with little to no interruptions, and Metatron seemed pleased with the pacific assimilation of his orders - which he referred to as _directions._ He had set out to reform the way things got done in Heaven, more specifically, the way angels interacted with humanity and did their job. For example, one of the ‘directions’ he’d given them in the meeting was to change the way the apparition angels interacted with humans - ever since Castiel could remember these angel’s job was to appear to people of extreme faith, in dire times of need, in order to maintain Heaven’s hold on every major religion - it was necessary, sometimes fate needed a little push, and the apparition’s angel’s jobs, all throughout history had an important role in the way the modern world came to be - and so, Metatron’s new _guidelines_ consisted in a significant change. He wanted them to appear, now, as angels who would grant favors to humans, but meanwhile slowly gaining all control over them. This was just one of the many changes Metatron was aiming for, and none of them promised a peaceful transition, Castiel knew the humans, the hunters in particular, when they would figure out what was happening, they wouldn’t sit idly by, it was evident a war was to come if Metatron was not stopped. 

“Castiel,” Metatron called out, at the end of the meeting, while all the other angels had started to make their way out. “Would you be so kind as to indulge me for a few moments in my office?” 

Castiel hesitated for a second, “yes, of course”. He wasn’t a fool, he had expected this to happen at some point, and definitely after his last conversation with Uriel. It wasn’t in his nature to be two-faced, let alone deceiving, and now he found himself in need to do so - it was imperative that Metatron was convinced he was on his side, for Gabriel’s plan to work. 

They made their way to Metatron’s office in silence, Castiel wasn’t surprised to see that Metatron had gotten comfortable in Michael’s old office. It wasn’t a matter of convenience, because Metatron could easily alter his own corner of Heaven to create an even bigger and more imposing office, no this was about exerting power. 

“Have a seat,” Metatron stood as if he was looking out of a window, but there was nothing but blank walls - _he’d always had a flair for the dramatic_ , Castiel thought as he promptly abided, pulling up a chair. “Tell me, Castiel, you remember your orders, do you not?” 

“I do, yes,” Castiel wasn’t scared of him, in the least, in fact, Metatron had never been a fear-striking angel, his appearance was all but menacing, he presented as short looking, facially hairy, involved in a thick layer of adipose tissue, he wasn’t anything like the other angels. But still, Castiel knew better than to make him his enemy - at least for the time being.

“Then please, would you repeat them to me?” 

Castiel tried to appear impressed at Metatron’s little display of power, just as a thought crossed his mind. The last known person to be called to this office was Joshua, and he hadn’t seen him at the meeting today, in fact, he hadn’t seen Joshua in quite a while. Which was an awful coincidence, seeing as he knew Joshua was one of the remaining angels on the fence about Metatron. It was weird enough for an angel to vanish like this, especially when considering the fact that the last time he was seen was on his way to discuss matters with Metatron… But Metatron wouldn’t be the one to dispose of questioning angels like this, would he? His interests were clearly troubled, but would he be capable of things this morally wrong?

“To get rid of the Winchesters,” He finally answered, as Metatron seemed to be impatient, and now that the thought had crossed his mind, he had a feeling he had to be more careful around Metatron. “So they would not interfere with your plan for the city,” he added.

Castiel remembered the day he’d gotten his orders, not unlike many others he’d followed, blindly, before. And yet, he never did manage to oblige to this particular one. Since the first moment he’d set foot in the city, long before the walls held angel warding, he had been doomed to fail. 

He could remember the first time he’d went way over his orders and saved Dean from a nasty fall - he’d fallen, hit his head, and lay there bleeding on the floor, and at this point, Castiel had been watching him for months, at the command of Michael, watching over Hunter’s City.

When Metatron rose to power and gave him orders to get rid of the Winchesters he’d felt bothered by the order, in the years that he’d watched over the city, he had grown fond of these humans, and the idea of getting rid of them didn’t sit right with him. Had he saved the hunter’s life, just to take it away again? 

An idea had occurred to him, one where he didn’t actually need to get rid of them, just keep them out of trouble. And if they became a nuisance in the meantime he would deal with it, in some way, before Metatron would be the wiser. He never expected to actively rebel against Metatron’s cause, never in a million years did he guess he would not only not follow orders, but to allow the kid he healed, a grown man now, to get to know him, and to spend so much time with a human. 

“And have you?” Metatron’s questions were short and concise, speaking to him as if he was a young seraph, slowly and loudly, and it was getting on his nerves “Gotten rid of them?” 

Castiel refused to answer, instead looking to his feet, he knew where this was going, Metatron knew perfectly well he hadn’t gotten rid of anyone. A sudden fight or flight sensation set in him. 

“Ah as I expected, you did not, right.” The self-proclaimed leader finally turned to look at him, stepping closer to the other side of the marble table, leaning on it. “Can I offer you a piece of advice?” 

Castiel looked up at him, his eyebrows lifting as if to say ‘be my guest’, he didn’t need to though, he knew Metatron would speak anyway, he clearly relished in the sound of his own voice. 

“To develop feelings and emotions, it’s what sets angels such as me or yourself, apart from the others. They know not of earthly pleasures and have never felt, well anything really,” Metatron laughed before continuing, “and while they believe it makes them stronger, I believe that it makes them weak.” 

Cas was not expecting this line of thought, his eyes squinted in distrust. “Why?” 

Metatron nodded along, “Well, you see… angels like us, we’re powerful.” a condescending smirk curling on his lips. “Which is why, Castiel, I value you. You’re more than a soldier, more than a blindly herded sheep. And it is also why I will give you the benefit of the doubt, if you think it’s best to keep the Winchesters alive, I trust your judgment. I will not question your familiarity with them, or well one in particular.” 

Castiel tensed at the mention of Dean, more suspicion flooded him as Metatron spoke. He knew his words didn’t match what the other angel actually thought, it was simple manipulation, designed to boost his ego and assure he was still on his side. Cas didn’t know if Metatron suspected of his alliance, with Gabriel and Michael, or not, but he knew he had some sort of angle, the other shoe was bound to drop. Metatron’s face turned into the grin that held nothing but menace. 

“However, if I should find out that this is going to be used against me, I will have to take matters into my own hands, and that matter includes not only your little pets, but also you.”

There it was. 

* * *

Castiel made his way, down the marbled corridor once again. This time, though, he walked with the heavy burden of Metatron’s words. An unsettling feeling rested in the low of his gut, as he was pretty sure Metatron questioned his allegiance. And he could very well be playing him, and that wouldn’t end well. He made a mental note of meeting with Gabriel to report the new turn of events to him. 

They needed to work out how this would happen, how Castiel could convince Metatron that he was on his side. Every day it grew harder to maintain the appearance of a loyal follower, but Cas knew it was just until they could free Michael - after that, all the cards would be on the table and there was no turning back. 

Castiel couldn’t deny that Metatron was a charismatic leader, strong-willed and clever. Maybe too clever for his own good. He knew there were angels who would follow him, so long as he kept this holier-than-that persona. There had been times where even Castiel fell deceived at his words - the way he would talk about humanity, and their mission, and the way he spoke of their father, it was easy enough to believe him. It was certainly easier, he understood, to stand with Metatron than it was to rebel against him. And yet, that did not make it right. 

With Michael imprisoned, Lucifer in the cage, Raphael in no shape to lead any armies, Gabriel was the logical choice as a new leader - except he wanted nothing of the sort. Castiel just wished he would step up, and reveal to all their brothers and sisters, who Metatron really was and have them choose to follow him; he hated this plan, going behind everyone’s back - he knew it was the right thing to do, yes, but every fiber in his being seemed to burn with uncertainty.

The more he thought about the state of things, the more wrong it all felt - angels plotting against humanity, hunters imprisoning an archangel, his brothers plotting against each other, and Castiel?

And then there was Dean Winchester, the human that Metatron had undoubtedly been referring to during their conversation. The very mention of his name seemed to rustle his feathers, just the lingering idea of this man was enough to send him into a spiraling wave of self-doubt and vacillation. In the long, long list of things that were wrong, but felt right, or things that are right but feel wrong, Dean Winchester and the way he made him _feel_ was starting to make its way to the top of the list. 

Dean, who was nothing but selfless, brave and kind, always trying to do the right thing, but a prisoner of his own mind, just as he was. At least that’s what Castiel had to keep telling himself, to keep his strong facade from crumbling down. He knew he _was_ doing the right thing, but doing the right thing had never looked like defying orders before, so his every instinct kept telling him that something was wrong, that he was straying from the righteous path. He had to keep setting himself on the right path, remembering Gabriel’s words ‘ _we do not serve each other, we serve Heaven, we serve God, and we serve His creation’._

Dean was certainly God’s creation. 

Dean, who taught him what it was like to feel human, who’d made him try cheeseburgers, who’d helped him out of a sea of soap bubbles, who handed him a beer every now and then as if forgetting he was an angel, Dean, who encouraged him to _feel_. 

This human was becoming a regular passenger in his mind, all their late-night encounters, all their conversations seemed to exist in a space where time and place did not - like they had no beginning and no end, they just lingered there, in the same realm of existence as Dean’s prayers, whose words echoed in the distance, always ringing in the back of Castiel’s mind, like a song he just couldn’t get out of his brain. And for the most part, this was okay. This was acceptable. It was just something Castiel had been learning to live with - this constant voice inside, Dean’s voice - he’d gotten used to it. But in this moment, he wished he could just erase all memory of this voice. 

It rang inside, in flashes. He was sure it had to be what humans would feel when they woke, their dreams slipping away, but still the pictures hanging behind their eyes through the early morning hours - that was what he felt like, the remnants of that night insisting, every time he closed his eyes.

 _You are an inferior species Dean,_ his own words echoed back to him. He had seen the hurt in Dean’s eyes as he’d said it, he could see the self-loathing there, clear as day, too. He strongly disliked arguing with Dean, yet somehow dissension seemed to occupy most of their conversations, he had realized, this human could make him feel the most intense emotions, he felt happiness and excitement, he felt things he knew not how to name, and he felt anger and pain like he’d never felt before, all this stirred up by one man, it was at the same time exhilarating and terrifying.

It had surprised Castiel how much it’d affected him when he saw a hint of fear flash across the hunter’s face that night, Dean, who had always put up a brave front whenever he was around Castiel, had been visibly scared of him. That had to be what bothered him the most, even above all he’d been accused of, the thing that made him hate that moment, was the sheer look of terror, etched across Dean’s face - a face he’d come to know like the back of his own hand, had produced an expression so unbefitting, so out of place that it left a mark in Castiel - he never wanted to see that look again, not on Dean Winchester. 

_If only Dean had any idea_ , that he would probably be the last person that Castiel would ever be able to hurt...

This was the effect Dean had on him, these were the feelings he fought so hard - a battle always lost, and for the first time in millennia, this wasn’t a battle Castiel minded losing; in fact, he could even go as far as thinking he loved every second of this losing battle.

Castiel sighed, his thumb and his index finger pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes closing for a moment, images flashing across his mind, that he had to erase - a slip, that was all it was, that’s what he had to keep reminding himself. Just a moment’s worth of misstep that he had to never think of again, never remember how it felt to have Dean’s hands all- _just never think of it again_ . Dean had been completely and utterly intoxicated, in no control of himself and Castiel knew he would never have done _that_ had he been in full control of his capacities, he knew exactly how Dean felt about angels, and worse, what he really must think of him. 

_What a poor excuse of an angel._ He wasn’t focused, he wasn’t detached like he was supposed to be, he wasn’t, at all, selfless, in fact, he was one of the most selfish angels to ever roam Heaven and Earth. He had always been intrigued by humans, by their customs and their own ways, living around their inescapable mortality, yes, he had always been captured by humanity, but now he _craved_ it, and he knew that it was wrong, he knew that he had to fight it with all his strength. This wasn’t how angels were supposed to be. 

Some part of him wanted to resent Michael for sending him on that mission all those years ago, but the truth was, he had no one to blame but himself. It wasn’t Michael’s fault that he had gotten himself too close to humans, it wasn’t Michael who pushed him to heal that soon-to-be hunter, all these years ago, and it certainly wasn’t Michael who’d ordered him to save that same hunter day in and day out, since that night.

The truth was, that he didn’t even understand it himself. Angels were supposed to be created without any capability of emotion, fearless soldiers who would never question orders. Of course, angels didn’t lack a total moral compass, this was a necessary trait when watching over an entire species, and of course, there was record of angels falling off the wagon here and there, of developing emotions, human emotions, some of them even going as far as falling in love with a human, of… That would never be him, _it couldn’t be._

Castiel took a deep breath, centering himself, they would be here any second now, waiting for their words, and he had to pull himself together, no one could see him like this, unraveled. He had to put up the front of a capable soldier, of the mindful strategist they needed him to be. He needed to stash these earthly thoughts away and focus on his task - the one thing he knew, for sure, how to do properly.

* * *

It was strange, being in the cabin without Dean there too. 

The entire room made it very clear that Dean was the only one who came here frequently, from an unfinished coffee in a disposable cup, to a few of his weapons spread out on the table next to a few books that Dean had mentioned during their conversations. 

Castiel didn’t know exactly what he was looking for in the cabin, but if there was any chance of getting to talk to Dean this would be it. He was well aware that he could just appear in one of Dean’s dreams to talk to him, but the thought of intruding his personal space didn’t seem like a good idea after what had happened the previous week. So, all he could do was wait, and hope that when Dean would come back to the cabin, and on top of that, that he would want to talk to him. He’d wait. 

Half hours turned into full hours, and Castiel sat, waiting. He’d lose himself in thoughts, going over the same things again and again - the fight, the drunken accident, the plan. In fact, Gabriel’s plan seemed more ridiculous by the second, Dean would never agree to what they were going to ask of him. While this was the inescapable truth hanging above their heads, Castiel couldn’t give up without trying, he _had_ to try, freeing Michael was the only way to protect both angels and humans alike.

Unsure of what to do with himself, he sat down at the small table next to the window. The cabin really wasn’t much to take in, made up entirely of wood, with little to no decorating elements, there wasn’t a lot to look at, a large leather couch that had seen better days, right across from him; a fireplace that kept the place warm in the winter, now filled with ashes, but a scent still lingering in the air; a small kitchenette with the essentials, with some weird appliances that Cas knew were used to cook food on, but couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out how to work; and the table he was sitting at. On the other side of the room, a door was opened to the only room in the cabin, revealing a small double bed, neatly made, where Castiel was sure many girls had spent the night. Other than the bed, the room had a bathroom, and nothing else. 

He knew this cabin wasn’t Dean’s, it didn’t belong to one hunter, in particular, it was, like many others, a cabin for hunters to spend the night outside the walls if they needed to. Back before their walls were protected by warding, Dean had explained to him, it was used as outposts, to look out for potential threats to the city. Nowadays it was mostly used to receive guests from the outside seeing as no strangers were allowed in the city. The keys were kept at the command center inside the city, and they were supposed to return them when they were done with them. Dean had kept his keys, and so far, no one had even noticed. So, Castiel knew this wasn’t Dean’s place, but it was the closest he would ever get to see, and there were some small details that showed a bit of Dean through. Like the pantry, fully stocked with shrimp noodles and cereal, the fridge filled with beer and eggs. A small cassette player, with two or three tapes on the side, and hanging from one of the chairs, a hoodie tossed over. 

Castiel had never seen the hunter without the leather jacket and army-style boots, and he let himself picture, just for a moment, a softer Dean walking around this cabin in the early morning, with nothing but a hoodie and boxers, barefoot while he cooked his eggs, some 70s rock band music filling the cabin. He smiled at the picture in his head. Again, he would never see him like that, just as this wasn’t Dean’s home, it certainly wasn’t Castiel’s. 

He waited patiently, his eyes occasionally drifting to the door, always expecting Dean to just barge right in. Eventually, his gaze turned back to the items on the table, the bitter scent of the cold coffee filled his nose and even though Castiel had started to appreciate human foods and drinks, this would probably never be one he’d enjoy, not as Dean drank it, at least, dark and bitter.

He turned his attention to the books that were scattered across the table, most of them held titles that suggested their content focused on lore - Cas smiled in an almost laugh, he knew Dean’s talk about how his brother was the bookworm was mostly for show, and here was the proof, - there was also a book by the author Kurt Vonnegut, the spine creased and the pages worn out, it looked like it had been read over and over again, and he recalled Dean going on about his books on multiple occasions. Curious about its content, Castiel picked up the book, and a small folded piece of paper fell at his feet.

_Cas,_

_There’s something shady going on in the city, if you read this_

_meet me at_ _18450 South Miles Road,_ _this Thursday at 11 pm._

_Dean_

There was another sentence written on the paper, but it had been completely crossed out so it was impossible to read, Castiel wondered briefly what other important information Dean had meant to write on the note. He tucked the note back into the book, not wanting to risk carrying the note into Heaven later. 

* * *

From a distance, he could see Dean leaning against his car, exactly where they were supposed to meet. Castiel couldn’t deny the unnerving feeling that sat low in his stomach, their last meeting was spent mostly by fighting, and while that was nearly a week ago, he didn’t know if Dean was still angry. 

“Dean,” Castiel nodded in the direction of the hunter, his eyes having trouble meeting Dean’s, the memory of their last encounter still fresh. He hoped Dean wouldn’t take notice. 

“Cas,” Dean greeted him casually, though, from the corner of his eye, Castiel could tell the hunter’s eyes didn’t seem to search for him either, and he tried to ignore the feeling on his stomach. “You got my note.” 

Cas’s voice felt trapped as he heard Dean employ the nickname he’d given him. He’d never allowed many shortenings of his name, it was blasphemous the removal of the ending ‘-iel’, which meant ‘of God’, but on Dean’s lips, he adored it, the way he created this name, just for him, just for the two of them, as if in Dean’s presence he didn’t belong to God, to Heaven, to no one else but to himself, as if right then and there he wasn’t a soldier of Lord, he was just ‘Cas’. 

“Of course, I went to-” 

“Good, because I left it in that Vonnegut book and I wasn’t sure you’d find it.” Dean interrupted him, a noise rolling off his tongue that Castiel could only assume was a nervous laugh. “Are you still staying at that motel?” Dean was in an apparent urge to speak of anything, it seemed. “Across from the Mischievous Woman or whatever it’s called.”

“Dean you know perfectly well it’s called the Shady Lady, you even introduced me to the lady in question - Andrea, she is very nice.” Castiel gave him a quizzical look. “And no, I’ve been in Heaven, there were matters that needed attending to.”

So this was where they were at, Castiel thought, it remained a mystery to him how humans would always pretend certain events hadn’t occurred, just in order to keep things civil. It had always seemed ridiculous from the outside, but now, he just felt relieved they wouldn’t have to address it. Exactly as Castiel had thought, Dean had never wanted it to happen in the first place, and he was prepared to never speak of it again, even if the thought of doing so felt heavy in his stomach. 

“What’s going on?” Castiel asked, deciding he could go along with casual. Dean’s note hadn't been really helpful in explaining what had happened, and now they were half-kneeling behind Dean’s car, across the street from what looked like an industrial warehouse.

“You see that?” Dean reached his arm out, pointing, and Cas followed, his eyes squinting to see in the dark. There were four trucks he could see, completely blank, no markings on them whatsoever, and a few men hung around outside, talking with one another. The door of the warehouse was half-opened but he couldn’t see much besides that.

“Yes?” Castiel still wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking at. 

“Those trucks came from inside the City. I followed them here.” Cas’s eyes finally caught Dean’s, by accident. The hunter had turned to look at him as he explained, and paused, briefly, clearing his throat, “Whatever they’re carrying, can’t be good. There are never trucks going in or coming out of the City after dark, we close ranks at night, so whatever it is…” Dean raised his eyebrows, emphasizing the conclusion that hung in the air. 

“We should get closer, there’s no way we can see what’s going on from here.” The strategist in Cas awoke, and Dean nodded in agreement.

They waited for all the men to walk inside the warehouse and moved stealthily across the street, Dean holding his gun out in front of them as Castiel let him lead the way. Only with Dean did he feel he didn’t need to lead, that it was okay to let someone else take charge, it was a pleasant change from what he was used to in Heaven, where eyes were on him at all times, always waiting for orders, and all the responsibility of whatever the outcome rested on his shoulders. 

When they reached the trucks Cas took a peek inside and realized they were already empty, whatever it was that had been in them had already been moved inside. Dean came to the same conclusion and nodded to Cas for them to walk inside the warehouse, hands signaling for Cas to go in front of him, that he would cover him. It was easy enough for Castiel to understand what Dean meant, marine corps, navy seals, green berets, they all used the same kind of tactical hand signals when in a situation where they couldn’t speak. He wondered for a moment where Dean had learned to do this until he remembered Dean had told him John Winchester had been a marine. As he followed Dean’s command, his mind drifted to the notion that Dean had been raised into this, much like him. 

They got inside fine, there were no guards at the door or alarms set to tip the hunters off, who had apparently thought no one would bother to follow them.

Once inside Castiel looked around, they found themselves in a large hall, like a parking garage, but completely empty, the high ceilings causing their footsteps to echo. Before they could try any of the metal doors at the end of the hall, Castiel heard something, and it was coming towards them. Footsteps and muffled voices grew closer with every second, Castiel looked around and Dean was right behind him, _if only there was anywhere to hide._ Then he spotted it; a door on the right, only a few feet away from where they stood. 

With no time to hesitate Cas grabbed hold of Dean’s shoulder, rushing both of them in the direction of the room. Castiel hoped that the door wouldn’t lead to more hunters, but he didn’t sense any form of life behind it, so it appeared to be the safer option.

He swiftly opened the door, trying to make as little sound as possible, and let go of Dean’s shoulder as he stepped inside, feeling Dean walk into the room after him. One, however, could hardly call it a room; it was a closet and Cas realized this too late, because he crashed into a few of the cleaning supplies that were stored in a vertical shelf cabinet, and Dean couldn’t help but crash right into _him._

Castiel stood facing the shelves that held all the supplies he’d just knocked over and hoped to God no one had heard it outside.

A second later he heard the door closing, leaving both of them in complete darkness. 

“This must be where they’re hiding all the important stuff,” Dean whispered, right above his ear, his voice full of something that Castiel recognized as sarcasm.

Cas could hardly move his body without pressing back against Dean’s, it was a small, tight, space and as soon as the door had closed behind them Cas had immediately regretted this decision. It was too late now, the voices on the outside warned them it was impossible to leave without being seen.

He could hear and _feel_ Dean breathing behind him, and Castiel dry swallowed. Memories of that night came rushing back for the umpteenth time, he tried to shrug them away once more. The way their bodies were touching was too much, too close, too soon. Castiel shuffled his feet, uncomfortable, deciding it’d be best for them to just face the door. 

“We should turn around,” he said quietly, his voice wasn’t nearly as steady as he wanted it to be. He tried to ignore his own thoughts of what Dean must’ve been thinking as he did so.

“Yeah, fine,” Dean whispered and once again his breath caressed the back of his neck, Castiel suppressed a groan of frustration. “Turn on one, two, th-”

But Castiel couldn’t wait any longer, he turned his body around before Dean could get to ‘three’ and they now found themselves facing each other, this was even worse, Castiel let a hoarse groan escape his lips. 

They were only inches apart, hidden away in the darkness, hidden away from prying eyes and he couldn’t avert his eyes from Dean’s jaw, clenched, traveling up to meet his eyes, bashfully, just to find them already staring back at him. He had never before, even in the dark, taken notice of how bright the hunter’s eyes were, long lashes framing them and soft lines forming from age. It was impossible to look away, he just hoped Dean would break eye contact with him first. He didn’t. 

And a thought grew in him, like a virus, spreading, if Castiel wasn’t so sure of Dean’s aversion to angels _he might have reached out to pull him closer, crash their lips together like they had that night._ Heat pooling on the low of his stomach, his skin crawling with craving, taking too much effort just to not let himself wrap his arms around Dean.

Instead, he tried to control his breathing - this had never been an issue before, but ever since Dean had become his friend, he found himself forgetting to breathe sometimes. To humans, it came so naturally, but he had to remember to keep breathing, and Dean made it so much _harder._

It must have been mere seconds before Dean eventually turned around, but it felt like the longest seconds of Castiel’s eternal life. Whatever possessed him to think turning around would be a good idea, he didn’t know, this wasn’t any better at all, Dean’s back turned to him, allowing his eyes to wander through his back, to his neck, to his jeans and how they fit him, suddenly he had no idea what to do with his arms. He actually considered disappearing from the closet, flying somewhere else, anywhere else, where there was space, but he couldn’t risk using his grace. 

“Can you still hear them?” Dean asked, there was something in his voice that Castiel couldn’t quite place. Maybe Dean was just as uncomfortable as he was, however, their reasons for being uncomfortable were completely different, he knew that for Dean to stand like this, to feel so trapped with an angel must be unbearable, and for him, it was just excruciating, standing so close, feeling his body pulsing and palpitating with every time Dean’s body moved in the tiniest way, grazing against his, but one thing was certain, they both wanted to get out as fast as possible. 

Cas took a deep breath, trying to focus, but his body didn’t seem to follow his brain’s commands. His eyes hadn’t gotten used to the dark, his heart raced and he felt the blood rush to his head, leaving his legs weakened, he made his best effort to strengthen his knees, but it all felt so pointless, as long as Dean stood so close, and yet so agonizingly far, he wouldn’t be able to pull it together. He mentally cursed in Enochian, damning the day he’d met this hunter, and had sent all his rationality and logic out of the window.

* * *

Dean tried to listen for any signs of movement, but the only thing he could hear was his own damn heartbeat, too loud - he wondered for a moment if Cas could hear it too, but hoped to hell that he didn’t.

Being stuck inside the smallest closet in the world, with the angel he’d drunkenly kissed and who’d outright rejected him, was the last thing he thought he’d been doing on a rainy December Thursday, or any Thursday really. 

“Can you still hear them?”

He was trying hard to think of anything other than their bodies being so close together, he could practically feel the heat radiating off Castiel. It was fine if the angel wanted nothing to do with him, but if that was the case, Dean thought, why the hell couldn’t he just _not stand so close?_ It was hard enough trying to keep his cool, all while his body just ached to be touched, but it was especially hard when the same guy who he knew didn’t want him, kept looking at him - Dean had decided not to look away first just a few seconds ago, not because he couldn’t, because he was sure he probably could, but to make him think he was completely over it. He didn’t think it was working all that well though, Castiel still seemed completely nonchalant about it, and Dean still felt like a hot mess near him. 

“Be quiet,” Castiel ordered in a low, hoarse voice that managed to drive Dean absolutely insane. 

Now, Dean could actually feel Cas’s breath on his neck and a treacherous shiver crept down his spine, goosebumps spreading all over his skin. It took all of his willpower and breathing exercises to not jump out of the broom closet right then and there. 

When he had left Cas the note it had been a shot in the dark, he’d been busy worrying if Cas would even show up at the cabin to read it, and even if he did, Dean didn’t know if the angel would actually still want to talk to him. Well as it turned out, Dean had been worrying about the wrong things, and while he was relieved to see that Cas was still gracious enough to pretend nothing had happened, nothing could have prepared Dean for how awkward he felt in this moment. 

_Fuck,_ Dean thought, _this is what I get for fraternizing with the enemy._ Once again he found himself the butt of a bad joke, an angel and a hunter, natural foes, stuck together in a broom closet with barely enough space to breathe. 

“Okay, they’re gone. I believe we should move now,” Castiel said and Dean had never been happier to just go put himself in harm’s way.

Dean opened the door, breathing in the fresh air from the spacious hallway, rusty metal had never smelled better. They stood apart further than was probably necessary, but Dean didn’t mind putting a little more distance between him and the angel, allowing his body and mind to recover from the (too) close encounter. 

They made sure the open space was empty before making their way through. The lights were too bright and all the trucks had been emptied and parked inside. On the furthest wall from them, there were double sliding doors, made of thick steel.

“So what do you think they’re hiding in there?” Castiel frowned, 

“I have no clue, but if hunters are going to these lengths to hide something...It can’t be good,” He wondered who they would be hiding, whatever it may be, from. There was just a brief moment separating him from the knowledge of what it was, and for a second Dean worried he wouldn’t like the answer. “C’mon, let’s find out”

They made their way, carefully, around each truck, the white lights above them creating a low hum until they finally got to the door - of course, it had to be locked. 

Dean shook the hefty lock in his hand, clearly irritated. “Can’t you just melt this off or something?” 

“Of course I can.” 

“Then do it,” Dean raised his eyebrows at the unmoving angel.

“If we want to be surrounded within seconds. The heat I would conjure is too strong Dean, I would probably melt the whole door off.” 

“Great, another useless angel perk. Now what?”

Castiel frowned, clearly unamused by Dean’s words. “I can do this - ” And without warning, Castiel grabbed hold of the lock and with a flick of his wrist, the previously sturdy lock seemed to just dismantle at their feet.

“Yeah, okay, that works,” Dean tried hard not to seem impressed by the fact that Castiel just snapped a steel lock with his bare hands as if it was built from legos. 

“Let’s go,” Cas carefully pushed the door open and they slid inside, and after closing the door behind them Dean pulled the light string that hung from the ceiling. Looking around they realized the whole floor was covered in cardboard boxes

The empty boxes had clearly been recently unpacked, they didn’t even bother to toss them away yet, whatever had been inside, couldn’t be very far away. 

“Do you smell that?” Cas had his nose up in the air, like a sniffing hound, and squinted his eyes as if it would help him smell better - even though it was stupid, Dean could relate as he sometimes felt the need to lower the music to parallel park. 

“Smell what?” He’d been too busy trying to check all the cardboard boxes for any clue to have smelled anything but the moldy storage room, but now as Cas pointed it out, he definitely felt something, something way out of place. 

“This sweet smell,” Cas explained, and Dean finally understood what the angel meant, a faint sickly scent filled the air. 

“Yeah, it just smells...sticky.” There was no better way to put it, he just knew it smelled like what he could imagine the color pink tasted like. 

Castiel nodded in confirmation of Dean’s description, and they looked around. There was nothing that indicated that any sort of food had been there, no splotches, no spills, nothing. It was just a storage unit, there were empty cardboard boxes of all shapes and sizes, most of them empty and some of them looking like they’d been forgotten there, all but one. 

Dean’s eyes spotted one small metal box, totally wrapped up in duct tape, with no indication as to what it was or where it was from. “Cas, check this out.” 

Castiel followed Dean’s gaze and his eyes locked on the same box, resting on the lowest shelf. He bent down to pick it up, and Dean almost flinched, having half expected the box to blow up in the angel’s hands. He watched as Castiel did the last thing that would’ve come to his mind - he smelled the box. 

“Yes, it’s definitely coming from here” Cas confirmed, extending it so Dean could smell it too.

“I’m good, thanks,” he shook his head, the last thing he wanted was to get pink all up his nostrils, it smelled weird enough from a distance. “What do you think it is?” 

Cas’s lips moved to the side, pursuing as if he was contemplating what could give off this smell. “It smells almost like… honey?” He looked confused, and Dean didn’t answer, because he had no idea what the smell could be, other than maybe a days-old can of diet coke, he could almost physically see the gears in Cas’s brain-twisting and turning, deciphering what it could be. 

“This smells familiar, somehow,” he kept going, and Dean just nodded along, waiting for him to remember what it could be.

Suddenly the angel’s eyes widened and Dean could tell he’d figured something out. 

“It’s a flower.” Dean frowned, that was about the last thing he expected, the idea of hunters going above and beyond to store some wilting flowers inside a tightly wrapped box in a warehouse seemed nonsensical to him. 

“A flower?” He repeated, hoping Cas could shed some light on the situation. 

“Yes. It resembles a flower I’ve smelled before, but it can’t be the same.” Cas’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes darting up as if he was trying to remember something. “It’s just that this flower I’m thinking of, it only grows in the deep Amazonian forest, I don’t see how it’s possible for it to be inside this box right now.” 

_Great,_ Dean thought _._

“Maybe it’s just some old slice of pie someone forgot to mail out. Maybe it’s got nothing to do with why we’re here.” Dean offered, trying to convince himself as much as Cas. “We should go, because I’ll bet you my left kidney whoever came to unload these boxes, is going to come back to throw all this away.” He kicked some of the cardboard boxes on the floor. 

“No, this all came in together.” Cas stated as if it was obvious “The tape is the same in both boxes, the big ones on the floor and this little one, see?” He picked up a piece of tape from the floor and showed it to Dean, holding it next to the small box. 

“Okay, say it is the flower you’re thinking of. What would be so special about it that it’d need to be transported in the middle of the night from the city to this shady ass warehouse?” 

“I have no idea, but I’m sure I can find out.” 

“Ok, great, you do that, but right now, we need to get the fuck outta here man.” Dean’s voice lowered into a frantic whisper as he heard indistinct voices outside the door. They waited them out, listening for the sounds to become further away, to open a small breach in the door to peek through. 

For a second Dean contemplated, he knew that this was their chance to get past the people whom the voices belonged to, but he also knew this was their only chance to figure out what they were dealing with. He gestured for Castiel to follow him while trying to think of a way to get within hearing distance of the voices without being seen.

They hid, crouching next to the tire of the nearest truck, the voices becoming clearer with every second passing as they’d gotten as close as they could without being detected. Dean could see, from his angle, three men making their way out of the warehouse. He elbowed Cas, stepping back so he could see too. 

He could identify one of them as a hunter, commander Barnes, and he was talking to a man he’d never seen before. Dean’s heart dropped as soon as the third man turned around, his eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to process what he was seeing faster, because John Winchester was standing next to them. What the hell was his dad doing there? His heart raced and over the million things that should be on his mind, one kept popping up, insistently - his dad and Cas in the same place - and he, warily, nudged Cas to get down and hide better. 

“Everything in order, then?” Dean could hear Barnes asking the stranger. The three men were walking toward the exit but stopped before going their separate ways.

“Yes, it seems you’re all set. You know how to reach me if there’s anything you need until the day comes.” The tall man stated. He definitely wasn’t a hunter - no hunter would wear a suit unless they were undercover, much less an expensive-looking suit like that. Dean wondered what day they could be referring to, and what was all set? They’d found nothing relevant except, apparently, the flowers Cas could smell, and a bunch of empty boxes, the contents of which he was still to figure out. 

“Thank you,” John Winchester’s voice echoed. “We’ll be in touch.” Dean had rarely heard his dad sound so formal, so uptight. Who on earth could he be talking to? He looked at Cas who was also eyeing the three men attentively, and Dean studied the angel’s expression closely, it was clear that he recognized one of them, and Dean had a gut feeling that it wasn’t one of the hunters he recognized, he wondered if he wanted to know what this meant. 

The three figures disappeared into the night again, John and Curtis heading one way and the lone man heading another. The pair waited for a few minutes, Dean had to be sure he wouldn’t run into his father on the way out, that was a conversation he wanted to avoid at all costs. 

When they were sure no one was close enough to hear them anymore, they let out a relieved sigh in unison, and while Dean wanted to address the fact that he was shocked to have seen his father in the midst of what he was sure was something really questionable, he had no idea what to say. 

“One of them was an angel,” Cas’ cut through the silence and added to Dean’s state of shock with yet another piece of shocking information. He couldn’t even register what Cas had just said. “His name is Gadreel.” 

_An angel? That was an angel?_ It just bounced around in his head - an angel, the man who had been standing next to his dad was an angel, just there talking with the hunters like it was the most normal thing to do.

Dean’s mind raced with this new information, trying to recall every detail about the third man. He was tall and well built, but little to nothing else resonated. This guy just looked like a suburban dad who grilled on the weekends, nothing special about him. Dean didn’t know how to feel about this, for the longest time he’d just assumed most of what he felt about Castiel was just the logical effect of him being an actual _angel._

“What the hell is an angel doing here, with Commander Barnes and my father of all people?” He didn’t even expect Castiel to answer him, hell, he looked more confused than him if that was possible. 

They stood there, for a while, processing the events of the evening, sometimes one of them would start to say something only to give up when they couldn’t even comprehend it themselves, Eventually, they gave up, agreed to try and find more from their respective ends. 

* * *

The odd pair sauntered towards the Impala as if they needed to stall time, and Dean wondered if he should be the one to speak, but the words felt trapped in his throat and he just kept walking. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline from what they had just witnessed, or just finding himself alone with Cas, under the night sky once again, but he felt like he needed to say something, anything. He didn’t like this silence between them, and he hated that he’d been the cause of it.

When he reached the car, he looked at Cas, hoping he would get the message to just get in. Thankfully, he did, apparently, the angel was getting better at picking up social cues.

This was it, in the car he could do it, in his car he could do anything. He waited for Cas to close the door and sit down, before starting the impala and driving off, not taking his eyes off the road. 

“Look, about the other night,” Dean started, the bravery he felt just seconds before seemed to laugh in his face. Cas’s presence in the passenger seat was a lot, and he actually felt nervous.

“Dean, you don’t have to-”

“Just let me talk,” Dean interrupted the angel, if he was gonna say anything he’d have to say it fast. “I was pissed, and clearly piss-faced drunk and I’m sorry” He took his eyes from the road to try and get a read of Cas's face. “I didn’t mean to, you know, I shouldn’t have done that, so let’s just forget about it.” It was a longshot, he knew if Castiel had been too bothered by it, this wouldn’t work.

Castiel’s face turned unreadable, like a marble statue, and Dean decided he didn’t like it when that happened. He turned his eyes away, focusing on the open road instead. 

“Does that mean we will go back to the way it was?” Castiel finally asked and Dean couldn’t help but look back up at him, to see if his expression had changed, it hadn’t. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean didn’t really know what that was, he would have considered them friends before he had stupidly tried to kiss him, and even if he would try his best take it back, it was out there, that he’d done it, that he’d wanted to do it, and hell that if given the chance he probably would do it again. As much as he wanted to attribute his pass at Cas to alcohol, and that’s the story he was sticking to, he knew damn well that it was more than that.

“Then I’d like that,” Castiel gave him a smile, but Dean could see it didn’t reach his eyes. He wondered for a moment if he had fucked up completely, and the guilt struck him once again. 

From now on there would be no more drunk dialing Castiel over his angel radio, no more slip-ups from Dean’s part. Not only had he embarrassed himself, but he had also made Castiel extremely uncomfortable, so much so he had to reject him, and while Dean didn’t even know what he wanted, it was painfully obvious that something between them could never happen, 

“Well, great to know that’s all cleared up,” Dean forced a smile. “I’ll see you around, Cas,” and without so much as a reply, the ruffle of feathers let him know he was gone. He rolled his eyes as he tried to push down how much he hated when Cas disappeared like this.

He spent the whole drive back in silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He didn’t have any reason to be angry with Cas, _hell,_ he should be grateful that Castiel wasn’t mad at _him_ after what he did. And yet, he couldn’t help all the thoughts that drowned out his conscience, anger for having been rejected, for the situation he’d found himself in, and a cocktail of other emotions he couldn’t begin to understand. _Honestly, though_ , it was his _own damn fault for letting himself get too close to Cas_ , but some part of him had hoped that Castiel would have taken back what he’d said that night. 

‘ _This isn’t right',_ the words echoed in Dean’s mind, making him irrationally upset. He couldn’t help but drift back to the time he’d heard words like these, in a totally different context, but still, much to the same effect, and suddenly he was sixteen again, confused and full of secrets.

* * *

"So guess she won't be coming around for Christmas dinner then?" Sam walked into the living room, to find Dean spread out across the couch. Their dad hadn’t been home in a week or so, and Dean hadn’t seen him since the warehouse, which was great since all he could think of when he was around was to confront him, and that wouldn’t end well for either of them.

“What?” the question startled him out of his thoughts, and how was it nearly Christmas already? The TV played a crappy hallmark movie as background noise, he hadn’t bothered to turn it off after he’d finished Die Hard for the seventh time in two days. His mouth was full of a half-eaten baloney sandwich, and a huge chunk fell into his lap when he opened his mouth to answer Sam.

“Come on man, you’ve been miserable for the past two days, moping around, and when was the last time you took a shower?” Sam’s upper lip lifted in disgust staring at his older brother.

“Hey, mind your own business,”

“Dean, you’re clearly going through a post-break-up funk,” Sam came closer and leaned on the arm of the chair across from him.

Dean frowned at his brother, was it really that bad? Sure he hadn’t taken a shower in three days, skipped training, and spent most of his time in front of the tv, cursing at all the sappy romance shows that were on, but- _oh god, it was that bad._

“I’m fine,” Dean lied, knowing perfectly well that Sam wouldn’t believe him. He didn’t even believe it himself. He wanted to be fine, he’d love nothing more than to be just as indifferent to the whole ordeal as Castiel, but he couldn’t. He’d always been like this, always too sentimental, too attached, John rode him so much for that when he was younger, he eventually just learned to put up this hard-ass, too cool for school front, and thing was, most people never actually bothered to try and look past it. The few that had gotten to see that side of him, he repressed so much, ended up leaving anyway, one way or another, so he’d just given up at this point. But now? Now he felt that the whole masquerade was becoming harder and harder to maintain, especially around Cas. 

“You can talk to me you know, I’ve helped before, remember? Jenna Davies, she dumped you senior year?”

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder,” Dean huffed, and raised his eyebrows, “You egged her house.”

“First off, I was fourteen, and second it was Halloween, it was the perfect crime.”

Dean laughed, “yeah she tried to get the school to call dad, but he wasn’t even around to punish us until days later.”

Sam’s smile widened, “so whose house do we target? I’ll egg a house.’” 

“If only it were that easy,” Dean sighed, it probably wasn’t that easy to egg Heaven. He felt grateful for his younger brother’s feeble attempt at making him feel better, but he didn’t think it was working. This wasn’t a post-break-up funk as Sam had called it, this wasn’t a break-up at all. Maybe that’s why it felt so awful, because whatever this was, it was over before it even started. 

“There must be something we can do to make you feel better,” Sam frowned, but then his face turned into a smile as if he just came up with a great idea. “How about we drive to Welldale, they have those burgers you like right? The best bacon cheeseburgers around?”

Dean’s stomach felt heavy at the mention of the burger joint, a picture of a smiling Cas, his face smeared with about every condiment in existence, made its way into his mind. It must have shown on his face because the smile on Sam’s faltered.

“Or, we could just talk about it, you know, like normal people,” Sam pushed carefully. “Dean, even you need to vent at some point, it’s not healthy to keep pushing everything down.” 

“I’m an idiot okay, is that what you want to hear?” Dean’s voice came out harder than he intended, but there was no point in taking it back. If Sam wanted him to talk, he might as well let it all out. 

“I’m sure that’s only partly true,” Sam offered a small smile. “Why would you think that? Is it something that dad said?” 

“No,” Dean wanted to stop talking but he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t keep all of it in anymore. There were too many secrets, too many lies, and too many fucking feelings, all stashed inside “I did something, and it was so stupid, but I can’t take it back and now everything is messed up. He just looks at me like a- ” Dean had to stop himself from saying any more, while he wanted to tell Sam everything, it was probably best to leave out the part about this guy, who’d totally passed up on him, being an actual angel. 

Sam was quiet for a second, probably processing the information Dean had just blatantly told him without meaning to, he realized that Sam was still under the impression that there was actually some girl outside of the city he’d been pining over.

“So you kissed him,” it wasn’t a question, and Dean hated the look of pity on Sam’s face. “Why is that so bad?” 

“I was drunk,” his voice was strangely unsteady as he spoke. All of the self-loathing rushed back in again, and he had to look away from Sam, fix his gaze on something that showed less pity, it drove him crazy.

“Are you sure that you’re not just blowing this whole thing out of proportion? Did he tell you he wasn’t up for it or was he just surprised that you kissed him?” 

Dean let out a humorless laugh, “Yeah I’m pretty sure he wasn’t all that into it, seeing as he told me that it wasn’t right, and that we should stop.” He tried to replicate what Cas had said in a straight face, but he was sure he hadn’t been able to disguise how it really made him feel. It felt weird to discuss this part of his life with Sam, partly because Dean had been keeping it a secret for so long, and partly because they were talking about Cas, and usually when Dean told Sam anything it was usually a done deal, or he was just bragging - and this was none of the above, in fact, he wasn’t used to being rejected _at all,_ much less by an angel, somehow that fact just made it all worse.

“What if he just didn’t want to take advantage of you?” Sam asked, his eyebrows shot up, in genuine concern.

“Yeah, right, because I’m a dainty schoolgirl who had one too many wine coolers.” If Cas hadn’t wanted to kiss him, it wasn’t because he was too drunk, it was because he just didn’t want to do it.

“And have you talked to him about this? Asked him how he felt maybe?” 

“We agreed never to mention it again,” Dean shrugged. 

“Let me guess, that was your idea?” Sam shook his head

“Look, I understand what you’re trying to do here, really, I get it, but he’s not like that.”

“I might not know him, but I do know you, and I know that this is what you do, Dean. You find something good and let yourself ruin it before it even starts, just so you won’t have to deal with being hurt.” Sam reached out his hand, and instantly this whole thing felt way too personal, and Dean had just had about enough. Enough talking, enough feelings, just _enough._

“Okay, Dr. Phil, enough with the therapy.” Dean cleared his throat, looking for a way to steer the conversation in a different direction. 

“I’m serious Dean, you should just take a step back and realize not everyone is out to get you, just give this poor guy a chance to prove you wrong.” 

Sam was doing his best, but he didn’t even have the full story. This was way more complicated than Dean made it out to be. It wasn’t just a guy, and this wasn’t just about feeling rejected. Even though it was, a little. A lot maybe. Still, there were bigger issues at hand, and maybe this was fine, maybe it was for the best, just having some time apart. Dean could use some alone time, he was sure the way he felt toward Castiel was clouding his judgment, and he couldn't afford that, soon he’d have to make a decision that would alter the course of his life and he couldn’t afford to be biased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading another chapter :) I'd love to know your thoughts on this one, as always! 
> 
> The biggest thanks to my beta for being the amazing writer and friend that she is, this chapter wouldn't be where it was if it wasn't for her; so thanks, Fred! (Tumblr: deanqueerchester) 
> 
> If you'd like to you can find me on [Tumblr](https://totallyxawesome.tumblr.com/), where I will post previews of the new chapter every Sunday, and feel free to ask me anything!
> 
> This time I would also like to invite you guys, to fill out this form, to give us some feedback, and for us to get to know our demographic a little better! Don't feel obligated to do it, if you're not comfortable with it, but it would be much appreciated :) (everything is totally anonymous ofc, and we won't share it anywhere, it's just for us. Thank you!
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	11. Chapter 11

_“Falling in love is not rational. It’s madness._

_A beautiful, wonderful, moment of magnificent insanity.”_

_Michael Faudet  
  
_

* * *

_This is a bad, terrible, oh so stupid idea._ Dean shook his head while he tried to hurry his fingers along the locked cabinet in his dad’s office. He’d waited until everyone had gone home, to sneak in and try to get some of the information he’d told Cas he’d try to find out. High up on his list was understanding what the hell his dad had to do with some angel, followed closely by what the hell had been in those boxes and why they’d taken them out in the middle of the night. It was all extremely shady and there was only one way to find out what was going on. 

“Dean,” a sudden voice startled him so much he almost gave himself whiplash by how fast he turned around. “what reason could you possibly have for trying to open the _locked_ cabinet in my office?” John Winchester’s raised voice echoed through the quiet office. 

“Dad!” Dean stuffed his lockpick into the back of his jeans in record time. Oh, he was in deep shit and he knew it. “I was just trying to-”

“I’m so sorry about that,” a guy Dean knew damn well was none other than Curt Hunter stepped into the office. “I asked him to find me the old rapports on the angel warding. You see I wanted to check if I could possibly update them, having gained some interesting facts since I’ve been gone.” 

John Winchester looked as if he was gonna explode any second, but then his demeanor changed as he looked towards Curt. “Right, well next time come to me. My son doesn’t have any knowledge about these things, and he shouldn’t get any ideas in his head,” John shot his son a look that said ‘ _you’re going to regret this later’._ And Dean was sure his dad had bought a single word of it.

“Winchester junior, senior, potato, potato,” Curt laughed and John looked like he was trying so hard not to curse at him, Dean thought his dad might spontaneously combust. 

“Right,” John said through gritted teeth. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” The tone in his question didn’t hold any friendliness, but Curt didn’t appear bothered in the slightest.

“No that was all, I’ll come back for the files, it can wait till the morning.” Curt smiled, “Dean if you don’t mind dropping me off at my cabin? I’ve had an exhausting day and my feet are killing me.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Dean would have done pretty much anything as long as it meant getting out of that room before John exploded. A quick glance at his dad confirmed his thought, John’s face looked whitehot in anger and Dean knew all too well what would happen if it was just them in the room. So he quickly followed Curt out of the office, they didn’t stop walking until they were standing outside, the lights of the street lanterns illuminating both of their features.

“I was just about to head to The Roadhouse, it’s our local bar, you can tag along if you want?” Dean knew there wasn’t really a logical explanation for inviting a complete stranger to a bar, but then again, this guy had just helped him get away from his dad, _and_ he did know everything there was to know about angels.

“So I’ve heard,” Curt seemed to consider the offer for a second. “Yes, I think I’ll join you, there isn’t much else to do around here anyway.” 

“Great,” Dean tried to sound polite, “we can take my car.” 

“Wonderful,” the older guy smiled. 

The drive to The Roadhouse was mostly filled with small talk, and Dean _hated small talk_ , but he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the chance he’d been waiting on. If this guy could, and would, tell him more about angels, there wasn’t a moment to waste. 

The bar was pretty packed for a Tuesday night, but they caught a free table by the back door and Dean asked Jo for a beer.

Dean looked at the shorter man in front of him, he wasn’t exactly the hunter type but there was no denying that he looked like he was knowledgeable. His grey beard aged him a little, and his posture wasn’t exactly fighter worthy, but other than that he fit in with the people around the city. For a second Dean wondered why commander Barnes, and the other hunters, had decided to trust Curt in the first place, them being the most suspicious bastards on the entire planet and all. But there was no denying his skills and his willingness to help the city out, so Dean wouldn’t deny his admiration for this guy's work. 

“Thanks for saving my ass back there, you didn’t have to do that, but hell, I’m really glad you did.”

“Oh please, you don’t have to thank me, that was nothing, we all struggle, to some extent, with daddy issues, don’t we?” Curt smiled, and while he seemed to be joking, Dean didn’t appreciate it all that much. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean took another sip of his beer. “Can I at least buy you a beer?” He did the math in his head, and he was sure he could spare a few bucks to thank the man. Had it not been for him, he’d be in real hot water right now. “It’s the least I can do”

“You hunters sure seem to enjoy your barley,” Curt paused in thought. “But yes, why not indulge a little?”

“What does that mean? And what the hell is a barley?” Dean had never spoken much with this particularly strange man. He’d seen him around, and heard of his knowledge, but had never had the chance to talk to him like this before. Everything Bobby said about him made sense now, _he was weird._

“The cereal from which the so-called beer is made.” He explained while nodding Ellen over to get him a beer. “Thank you so much.”

Dean had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at all this. “You don’t consider yourself a hunter?” He felt surprised by the distinction, and wondered if Curt had ever been out in the field or if he was just a scholar? 

“Oh no,” Curt laughed, “I consider myself more of an angel specialist. I don’t bother with all the other monsters of the world, that work gets way too dirty.” 

“Huh,” Dean wasn’t really sure what to say to that. He was used to being a hunter, and everything that came with the job, but then he’d never really been given much of an option. “I guess that makes sense,” He told him, even though he didn’t know if it did make any sense to him.

“Yes, angels are far more interesting creatures,” Curt seemed to grimace at the taste of the beer, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever met anyone in the same field of work who didn’t like beer, but made no note of that. He could tell this dude liked to talk, and maybe he could make use of that. After all, he’d been wanting to know more about angels, but John was making it damn near impossible, and besides what he could ask Cas, there was really no one to ask… Except maybe the angel specialist who sat across from him. 

“So Curt,” Dean started, not really knowing where to take his first question, or whether this guy would even entertain his meddling. “You’re like a walking and talking angel-encyclopedia, right?” 

“One could say so, yes,” Curt answered, his eyes beaming at the interest Dean was showing. 

“I’ve always been interested in learning more about angels, my dad is completely against it, of course.” He tried, and when Curt’s smile widened, continued, “I was wondering, do you think everything we learn in school about angels is accurate?” 

Curt raised his eyebrows, “Oh, no, not at all.” 

Dean took another sip, trying to process the unexpected answer. He had thought the books in the city would have some things wrong, but he didn’t expect them to be completely untrue. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m afraid we would be here all night if I were to get into it.” Curt answered, but the disappointment must have been visible on Dean’s face, because he continued, “but I’m happy to answer any burning questions you may have.”

Dean had held on to so many questions these past few months, that now, he wasn’t sure what to ask first. 

“How is Heaven organized?” Dean remembered that Castiel had often referred to himself as a soldier, and that had always left him to wonder if Heaven had ranks, like the military, which in turn, left him to wonder what Cas’s rank could be. He wondered how a place like Heaven would even have the need for a hierarchy. 

“Who is to say?” Curt seemed lost in thought for a second. “But I know that the archangels are supposed to be most powerful, which if you ask me, is a load of crap. I mean, after all, you’ve got Michael looked away in your city’s little prison cell, now he can’t be all that powerful can he?”

Dean shrugged, he’d never really given Michael’s capabilities much thought before. Sure, when he’d met him the angel looked like he’d seen his fair share of dark shit, but most powerful?

“That being said,” Curt continued, “all the other angels are trained soldiers, meant to follow a powerful leader into battle. They’re not made to think on their own, they don’t experience emotions like humans so they can be absolutely relentless.” 

“You’re talking about this like they’ve fought in wars,” that was an aspect Dean had never considered, he’d just assumed that because he didn’t know of any angel wars besides maybe the one currently about to burst, there hadn’t been any.

“Oh yes, they’ve been fighting wars ever since the dawn of time. You see, angels are keepers of the world, of humanity, all thousands of both.” Curt had busied himself with studying the label on the back of his beer bottle. 

Dean’s eyes widened at the information, how did one random middle-aged guy know all this? Then again, he was probably just a very dedicated scholar. 

“How do you know all this?” Maybe he was pushing his luck, but Curt didn’t seem all that uncomfortable. So Dean smiled encouragingly, a smile he knew made him look less threatening - it had worked in his favor before.

“I’ve just been around a long time. A guy tends to pick up some information along the way, and because I don’t bother with hunting I have a lot of spare time.” Curt looked up with a grin, and Dean could only be baffled by how easy this guy was to get answers out of. 

He suddenly remembered overhearing Bobby talk about a possible meeting between the hunters and the angels, a so-called peaceful way to free Michael from the city and give the hunters something they wanted in return. The idea of a harmonious negotiation between the two was more ridiculous than the idea of Sam shaving his hair off. 

“I heard that you’re trying to make some sort of deal with the angels, about Michael,” Dean said in a hushed voice, if anyone noticed he was going around and asking these questions they might try to stop Curt from answering. 

“You’re very observant,” Curt nodded, “but yes your city has been planning a negotiation with the angels.” 

Dean briefly wondered if this was what he witnessed at the warehouse, if that was the reason for his father talking to an angel instead of running him through, not that it would do much since no weapon that he knew of could actually kill an angel. 

“Do you know when?” He had no clue what angels would consider a good time or place to negotiate the freedom of their leader. He’d always been surprised the angels hadn’t done anything to help the process along, they were very capable of just obliterating the entire city without too much effort.

“Tomorrow night,” Curt smiled at the confusion apparently clear on the hunter’s face, “sooner than you expected?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Dean’s mind was racing, how did this tie-up with the events of the warehouse? Dean had been extremely frustrated that they’d come out empty on that one, but he’d have to admit it was his fault, and being stuck in a tight closet with Cas didn’t help, at all. Had he been alone, and focused, he might’ve come to any conclusions.

Ellen called for the last round and Dean knew if he had any other questions he’d have to decide quickly which one to ask, because it was about to be his last chance, he tried to shake the memory of the closet and think of something to ask.

“Do you think angels are capable of any form of human emotion?” He had no idea where this question had come from, it wasn’t at all the one he’d meant to ask - he’d always wanted to know about weapons and history, and not waste his chance by asking some stupid question to this dude he’d just met. 

Unfortunately, he couldn’t take it back, it was out there, so all he could do was keep a straight face, even though he couldn’t deny that he really wanted to know the answer. Dean studied the older man’s expression, trying to guess what he was thinking. It proved to be impossible. Curt’s lips were turned into a straight line, no expression, but it was like he was smiling with his eyes, and Dean had no idea why, but if he had to guess, he would say Curt looked amused.

He told himself this had nothing to do with Cas, that this was nothing more than curiosity, something important to learn about angels in general. But deep down he knew that was a lie, even though he had no idea what answer he was hoping for. If angels weren’t able to feel things, like humans, there was nothing he could do, and might as well just befriend a rock; on the other hand, if they were, in fact, able to reciprocate certain feelings, well then, that just made him feel like crap because it’d mean that Cas could feel the same way Dean did, he just didn’t - and that possibility hurt like a son of a bitch. 

“Angels are capable of some form of emotion, you could call it a moral compass, but they rarely encounter love. And if they do, they often mate for life.” Curt answered nonchalantly. And Dean had to try his best not to choke on his beer, this definitely wasn’t the answer he had been expecting, and he had no idea what to do with this (awful) fact of trivia. 

“Ah,” Dean had no idea what to say to that, because what the fuck do you tell someone after they’ve just told you that the guy you’ve been digging only mates for life, if at all? He took another sip of beer, hoping it would pass as a somewhat decent excuse for his silence. 

“But that won’t help us defeat them of course,” Curt added as if he didn’t notice Dean’s brain folding in on itself. 

“No, of course not,” Dean tried hard to stop his thoughts from spiraling. He had discovered that angels were at least capable of some type of emotion through his time with Cas. Every time he came across a new side of Cas, whenever the angel did something Dean had never seen him do before, he found himself enjoying it, always kind of making a mental note to try and get another reaction out of him.

The rest of the conversation fell flat pretty quickly when Dean couldn’t think of anything else to add after the information he’d just received. He decided it was best if he didn’t ask any more questions so they drank the rest of their beers in silence. Curt kept making some faces with every big gulp he took. 

When Ellen closed the bar, Dean said his goodbyes to Curt and thanked him once more.

Dean thought he was a weird, funny-looking dude, but he was grateful that for once someone had answered at least some of his questions. All the other older hunters usually just told him to 'stick it where the sun don’t shine’ - clearly coaxed by John to keep him out of the loop. But he wasn’t a kid anymore, and he was glad someone could see him like a man, a real hunter, old enough to deal with the important stuff.

* * *

The next morning Dean woke up to the sound of his cell phone ringing. 

“Yeah, okay, thanks man, I’ll talk to you later.” Dean hung up the phone, putting it back into his back pocket. He had just talked to Sam, who warned him that John had sent him to Bobby’s for the next few days, which could only mean one thing, and it wasn’t looking good for Dean.

He’d been actively avoiding his dad for the past few weeks, for a number of reasons. For one, he wasn’t sure he could talk to the man without losing it, after what Michael had told him. After that, he got to find his dad in the warehouse when he was supposedly on a hunt in Milwaukee, but he was actually striking deals with some angel. And just last night, his dad had caught Dean trying to sneak into his office. So, to say that they had a major bone to pick with each other was a massive understatement, and Dean was sure it wouldn’t end well for either of them. As much as he felt like confronting his dad, he knew it would probably be best to just let him simmer down for a while. 

He moved around the house quickly, gathering his things - clothes, guns, knives - and tossing them into the duffel bag. He’d go to the cabin and lay low for a few days until his dad would leave for a new hunt. At least he had managed to convince his dad that he’d stopped seeing the ‘girl’ outside the city, and it had bought him at least some of his freedom back. Dean checked his watch, there was still some time before John would get home, so he took the duffel and went down to the kitchen to get something to eat before he would have to get the hell out of dodge. 

At that exact moment, the front door flung open. 

_Fuck._

A heavy boot stepped inside, making the floorboards creak under the weight. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

_Well so much for breakfast,_ Dean thought as he dropped what he was doing and stood upright, just waiting for his father to turn the corner and find him there in the kitchen. This was about to be a major shitshow and Dean wished he’d left earlier. 

“Dean, you’re home” John stepped into the kitchen and his face was a perfect reflection of his anger, and Dean thought about leading them into the living room, away from the kitchen filled with sharp objects. 

“Dad,” he greeted back, shoulders already tensing up. “Glad you’re home for once,” he decided that if this was about to go down anyway, he might as well get some things off his chest. 

John just glared at him with a look that said ‘have you gone absolutely mental?’. “What’s gotten into you, Dean?” John took a few steps towards his son, his voice more of a growl. “And what the hell do you think you were doing in my office last night?

“I don’t think I owe you any explanation actually,” Dean said, a smile spreading across his face. This whole situation wasn’t funny at all, but he couldn’t help but feel smug about the fact that his dad wasn’t the only one keeping secrets. 

“You have some nerve, everything I do is to make sure this family is safe and provided for, I work my ass off so that you and Sammy get to have a chance at life. You don’t see me running around with some skank outside the walls, we prioritize family in this house, you of all people should understand that after what happened to your mom, or have you moved past this already?” 

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite, you know that?” Dean was about to lose it, and even if his dad hadn’t decided where he was going with this yet, this had surely decided the course of the rest of the ‘conversation’. 

“What did you just say to me, boy?” His eyes squinted and his eyebrows lowered, nostrils flaring. He was giving Dean an out, _just apologize while you can you absolute idiot,_ but he didn’t _,_ he couldn’t. 

“You heard me. You walk around with this big shot attitude, pretend like you’re some fucking saint, like we are lucky to have a dad like you. Well, guess what? I don’t think you would even qualify for a participation trophy, I basically had to raise Sammy on my own.” Dean could tell his dad was taken by surprise, he’d never had either of his sons talk back to him like this. “And all because, what? You’re trying to get _revenge_? Instead of trying to get back at the son of a bitch who killed mom, maybe if you’d have paid any attention to us, we’d still be a family. But no, that was more important. What would mom make of that, huh? You think she wanted this for us? For you? You’re pathetic.”

He could practically see smoke coming out of his dad’s ears, and in the blink of an eye, he was already dodging the impact of the open-handed slap coming towards his face. But this wouldn’t be like every other time, because Dean was furious. He was angry and the rage had built inside of him, all directed at the sorry son of bitch who passed for his father. 

He ducked at the slap and used the momentum to put all his weight behind his right shoulder and he charged at his dad. John lost his balance, not only because of the force Dean put into it, but also because this was the last thing he was expecting his son to do. 

Both of them stood there panting, trying to predict what the other would do next, but neither of them moved towards the other again. 

“You must think you have it all figured out, huh?” John spat at his son. “Your arrogance makes you weak, son. You have never been able to succeed on your own, you’re dependent and you can’t even stand the thought of being alone, that’s why you run away from your whole life here every chance you get, isn’t it? It’s why you turn your back on your own family, isn’t it?” John scoffed “Do you really think there’s any chance of a normal life for you out there? Can’t you see that every time you get close to anyone out there, you’re putting them in danger? And worse, you’re putting all of us in danger, don’t you care about this family?”

The next few seconds felt like a blur, Dean’s entire ability to be rational and think things through went right out the window. His dad really knew what buttons to push, and in just a few words sent him spiraling down - he didn’t think that what his dad was saying was true, and yet, guttural guilt settled in his stomach, like a wet blanket over him, suffocating him, and he let his anger flow through his body, in spurs of rage and adrenaline. 

The time for reasoning and arguing with his dad was long past them. Dean pulled his arm back and punched as hard as he could, his fist hitting John’s cheek, but it hit too far up and he completely missed the jaw, which could have knocked him out in one go. His knuckle burned in pain, and before he could pull his arm back again, a tremendous wave of pain spread through his thigh as his father’s boot crashed into his leg. Dean lost his balance and immediately John was atop of him, slamming his fists down, one after the other, not a moment’s worth of hesitation while he beat his firstborn’s face into a bloody pulp. 

Dean’s legs kicked and squirmed but there was no getting out from underneath the 200 pounds that were John Winchester. He could hear his dad yelling words, incoherent slurs he was sure he’d rather not get, but every so often there was one he was almost sure he could make out over the sound of his teeth getting knocked in, and it was enough to set him on fire again. He spat out the blood that was pooling in his mouth, a red mixture of blood and saliva landed on John’s face. His dad flinched, giving Dean a second to pull his knees up to his body and push his father’s body away from him. He scrambled to his feet and took several steps back grabbing onto a chair, using it to create some distance between them. 

“Dad!” He tried, struggling to get the word out. He knew he had to try and calm his father down before things got seriously out of hand. Sometimes this was all it took, just calling out to him, snapping him out of the rage trip he was in. Other times, it had zero effect whatsoever. This was one of those times.

The man in front of him looked like he was possessed, if Dean didn’t know any better he’d try to throw holy water at him. He felt completely helpless at this point, a ringing in his ears and his vision blurry. His balance was way off and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to take another punch to the head without passing out. While he had definitely wanted to get his anger out towards his dad, this wasn’t how he had imagined things going. 

He looked towards the door in a momentary flash of hope that Sam had decided to come home, but there was no one, he was on his own. His father was stronger than him, military-trained, heavier, and angrier - it was a blackout type of rage and Dean knew it all too well. Sometimes John would drink and get mad over nothing, and there was nothing he could do about it, except tell Sam to go to his room and lock the door, and he’d take it just to keep his dad from touching a hair on Sam’s head. But this time, his father wasn’t drunk, he didn’t think so at least. He knew deep down his dad wasn’t a complete asshole, that John was just passionate about his job, and a little too hung up on revenge probably. All he wanted was to keep his family safe, to raise them tough, so they wouldn’t get hurt. But right now his dad couldn’t care less about Dean getting hurt, he was furious and there was no stopping him. 

Dean knew he had to leave sooner than later. He had two options: either knock John out - which was easier said than done - or make a run for it. His duffel was right by the door where he’d left it, and the keys to the cabin and the car were inside. He’d left the impala parked down the street, so John wouldn’t notice he was home (so much for that), so he could just try and run past him. He was faster and lighter, he could probably get away in normal conditions, but he was hurt, badly, the ribs on his right side were burning in pain, like someone was pulling them apart from the inside, his head was whole other story, he felt the cuts opening with every small muscle movement, blood dripping and clouding his vision a little, he was unbalanced and there was this ringing that he was pretty sure wasn’t from the outside - so, all in all, he wasn’t sure he could run three steps without falling face down and being at his dad’s free will, and as much as he wanted to believe John wouldn’t kick him while he was down, he wasn’t so sure with his current state of mind.

He took a good, long, look at John. He wasn’t looking so great himself. From what Dean had managed to get in, he looked pretty shaken up, his face not looking better than Dean’s, he was breathing pretty heavily, flushed and sweating. If he was as hurt as he looked, Dean could, _maybe,_ bluff his way out. 

_Worth a shot._

“You wanna take another shot at me? Are you really up for it?” He risked studying his dad’s expression. It softened enough for Dean to know it was working. “Because I’m good, I can go all night,” he forced a smile, teeth and all, he really had to sell it. 

His dad looked like he was still on the fence, John knew that he was stronger than Dean, but he also knew that Dean had spent a lot of time in training and was in the prime of his youth, as John was slowly becoming older, and weaker. Dean could see that his dad was hurting by the way he was standing, even if he was trying to hide it. “I’m stronger now, and I’ve been training for months, so maybe you should quit while you’re ahead, huh?” 

_He got him now._

Dean took a deep breath and tried to keep his _cojones,_ knowing what was about to come. As he pranced through the room, he prayed to God almighty that his dad wouldn’t change his mind and that he would just fucking stay there, and let him get out. 

Never had the distance between the kitchen and the front door seemed so far. He felt like a gazelle in those nature shows Sam liked to watch, just running across the savannah under the watching eyes of the lion, knowing fully well he was just lucky to get away because the lion allowed him to. 

He got to the door, trying not to look back as he walked out, where everyone could see him. Not that he could count on any of his neighbors to intervene if it really came down to it. Dean tried to jog to his car, more limping than actually running, pain radiating from basically everywhere. His bad leg was throbbing, and Dean cursed the damn werewolves for the scar that still bothered him, he cursed at everything and everyone he could think of. Except for the few people who were actually there for him. He didn’t curse Sam, he didn’t curse Cas, in fact, thinking of Cas was the only thing that kept him from giving up and just dropping to the floor. He wasn’t sure why his mind went straight to Cas, maybe because he had healed him multiple times, or because Cas was the only thing that brought him joy lately. He could see the Impala now, just around the corner, and more thoughts of Cas and the time they had been spending together busied his brain, made him shift his focus from the pain. He allowed himself to dwell on the thoughts for once. He allowed his mind to picture Cas’s face and what he looked like when he smiled, the way his voice sounded, and how Castiel’s wings had been the most amazing thing Dean had ever seen in his life _._

 _Oh no. Oh no, no, no._ He wasn’t sure what he just did, but Dean was pretty certain that while slipping the angel’s name into his thoughts, he’d actually prayed to him. That was kind of how praying to Cas worked, _right?_ He didn’t need to bend down on one knee and put his hands together, for Cas to hear him, _right? It was all in the name._ And he’d just thought about it. 

Dean got to the door of the car, and threw himself in, closing the door behind him, putting as many walls between him and John as physically possible. He had to breathe, but he also needed to get the gear in drive and just _go._

He got to the cabin in record time, maybe disregarding road safety a little too much for the usual care he took with his car, but he wouldn’t be able to hold on too long before he felt like the adrenaline would wear off and he’d just be a puddle of pathetic seeping through the driver's seat. The cabin wasn’t that far away, anyway, and the road was pretty empty. He’d gotten weird looks from the guards by the wall (usually the hunters came in looking like hell, not the other way around) but other than that, he didn’t see anyone.

When he got there, he wanted to call Sam and tell him to stay put at Bobby’s, but first, he needed to get an ice pack on his face, or his eye socket would swell so much he wouldn’t be able to see from his left eye. So he did just that, sitting down on the chair by the table. 

Not even three minutes had passed when the door flung open, and for a (very irrational) second Dean thought John might have come back to finish the job, but of course, it wasn’t him.

Dean looked up from the couch, the bag of frozen peas pressed against his face, every expression that he tried to form hurt like a motherfucker, and he was sure that right about now he was swelling and looking worse than a day old roadkill squirrel. He hadn’t gone to look in the mirror, or even wash his face, he’d decided that icing it was the priority. 

“Dean, are you alright? What happened?” Cas’s voice broke Dean of his thoughts. As he’d worried, he had in fact accidentally called out to Cas. That had to be why he was there, _right?_ Which meant _he’d heard everything else he’d thought, right?_ Dean smacked himself in the head, mentally. 

Cas had stepped forward, towards him, but when Dean looked away, instinctively - he wasn’t used to letting anyone but Sam or Bobby see him like this, and he certainly didn’t want Cas to see it - Cas stopped in his tracks, hovering by the door, wide-eyed. 

His nerves had already taken a hell of a beating today, figuratively, and now here they were, doing a goddamn backflip again. But this time, it wasn’t fear or adrenaline pumping, it was just the regular Cas-induced panic that set in the pit of his stomach, apparently, it was still noticeable even over all his actual physical wounds. 

“Just a little family argument,” Dean didn’t know who he was sparing on the words, it seemed quite obvious it had been more than an argument. “With the old man,” it hurt to speak, and he somewhat struggled to get the words out.

Cas looked puzzled as if he didn’t really comprehend what Dean was saying, until he did, and then his expression shifted, becoming harder, his fists clenching and breath heavy - _Cas was angry._ Dean couldn’t really ignore the flutter inside, _Cas was angry someone had hurt him._ He had no idea why that made him feel somewhat happy, in the slightest, he’d just list it as one of the side effects of having the life beat out of him, his emotions were on the brink of his skin, just under the surface ready to pour out with any and all incitation. 

“Dean, you don’t have to pretend that your father didn’t just beat you senseless, this does not look like a little argument.” The angel’s voice was clipped and hard, and Dean had no idea how to react. “You look like you got hit by a cement truck.” 

“Yeah, thanks Cas,” Dean replied dryly, his face too sore to raise his eyebrows at the angel. “Well, it’s what he does. It’s always been like this in our family,” he tried to sound angry, to sound anything but the way he sounded, _weak,_ his voice failing him. This wasn’t something he talked about, _ever_. Not even with Sammy, not even with Bobby. They all knew of course, but they would just patch him up and give him a pat on the back. Sam would get furious about it some days, yelling and promising to step in between them the next time, but Dean didn’t want him to. Whenever Sam did step a toe out of line, John had no problem putting him in his place too, but Dean would never let their dad close enough to hit Sam. 

The way Cas stared at him burned holes into his entire being, he felt completely naked sitting in this chair, bag of frozen peas in hand, trying his damndest to keep his bottom lip from trembling like it decided to start doing. The longer Cas stared at him, the harder it was to not just wallow in what had just happened. Cas’s silence spoke louder than anything he could say, and Dean’s brain went blank for any witty remarks he could make to lighten the mood, and in reality, he didn’t want to. He was tired of making himself look like an emotionless rock, just so others wouldn’t feel bad. 

There was not much keeping him from holding it all together, and the way Cas looked at him made it so much harder. 

“Dean...” His name on Cas’s lips, in a whispered apology for a crime that was not his, almost sent him crumbling down, losing all control over his emotions. Tears threatened to cloud his vision, so he looked up instinctively at the ceiling, there was no way in hell he’d let Cas see him cry. Still, the way Cas spoke, so softly, so tender, hit him like a cinder block and left him a disheveled mess. 

He could feel himself getting swallowed whole by a wave of anger and pain, and he found himself gasping for air, gut-wrenching sobs begging to tear through his chest, but he just forced them down. It became harder to breathe, and in the corners of his eyes, he saw white, his head feeling lighter and heavy as a brick at the same time. He let his head fall onto his knees, grabbing the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, trying to get a hold of himself, but was out of his control - his breath was shallow and too fast to properly get the oxygen to his brain, and everything was cloudy. He wanted to be mad, to feel angry again, but he was just emptied out and hollow, beneath all of the storms that raged on the outside. 

Dean tried but couldn’t steady his breath, it felt like every time he thought he’d be able to calm down, a new wave of unleashed sobs tried to tear through him, but he wouldn’t let them. His heart felt like it was about to explode, and as much as he gasped for air, he still didn’t feel like he was breathing, at all. 

He’d almost forgotten Cas was actually still standing there, witnessing his entire pathetic breakdown, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. In that moment, between breaths, he felt a hand coming to rest on his arm, not applying a lot of pressure, not pulling him anywhere, just holding on to him. Seconds felt like minutes until Dean’s breath started easing and following a rhythm he was just now noticing. Cas was breathing with him, still and steady. In through the nose and out through the mouth. 

Repeating. 

His head was still between his knees, and he just focused on Cas’s breathing, felt the heat coming off his palm against his arm, and used it to ground himself. Dean was grateful for the quiet, that Cas didn’t feel the need to try to talk him through it, just his presence seemed to be enough to soothe him at the moment.

When he felt like the fire had gone out, and every breath he took didn’t feel like a stab in the chest, he slowly lifted his head, searching for Cas’s eyes. He found them just below his, staring back up at him. Cas was kneeling on the floor in front of him, his expression wasn’t worried anymore, even though now would be the time Dean would expect it to be, instead, it was calm, and he could even go as far as saying he could see a small smile drawn in his lips. 

“You’re safe here Dean,” Cas’s voice was soft and slow, his hand was still resting on Dean's arm, and Dean didn’t want him to let go just yet. “You’re okay,” the calm voice added. 

Dean nodded, to let the angel know he was, indeed, okay. And they stayed like that for a while, just breathing, eyes staring back at each other in what Dean would consider a very awkward stare down on any other occasion. How much time passed before Castiel got up, he had no idea, the only indicator being the beam of sun that had moved from the floor to the couch as the earth made its turn around the sun. 

Cas stepped away from him, and made his way into the kitchen area, staring at the cupboard and the displayed utensils. 

“What are you doing?” Dean asked, his voice still unsteady, embarrassingly so. He cleared his throat. 

“I’m making you something to eat,” Castiel answered, now facing the items in the pantry. “I’ve seen it’s a common tradition amongst humans, utilizing food for comfort” 

Dean was too tired to argue with this logic, and the fact was that he hadn’t eaten yet, so the thought of anything warm and edible sounded good to him. 

“Do you even know how to cook anything?” He noticed the way Cas was looking at the packets of instant noodles in front of him, and it didn’t look as if they had a lot of pre-packaged ramen in Heaven. 

“I’m an angel, not an idiot, Dean, I’m sure I can figure it out.” He had that look on his face, that stubbornness Dean had gotten used to by now, making it clear he’d do just fine by himself. So Dean watched attentively as Cas grabbed the packet of chicken noodles and started carefully reading the instructions written on the back. He watched as the angel grabbed a pot and filled it with water, placing it over the stovetop, and he watched as the angel cursed under his breath because he couldn’t get it to turn on. Cas looked back at Dean with an expression that made him want to burst out into laughter, he actually would have if his face didn’t hurt to move. 

“Just, push it down, and then spin it -No, Cas, just down, you have to-” Yeah, from where he was sitting he wasn’t going to be able to explain it to him. Dean got up, trying to keep the weight off the busted leg and limped over to where Cas was standing, and showed him how to turn on the stove. 

“I see,” a smile flashed over Cas’s face briefly, before ordering Dean to go rest. “Go sit down on the couch, and try not to move too much.”

“Bossy,” Dean sort of chuckled under his breath, making his way to the leather couch by the fireplace. He watched as Cas cooked, he couldn’t help the smile that had started to spread on his face every time Cas looked pleased with himself for unlocking a new human mystery. Dean wasn’t used to having someone take care of him, even if it was just making a packet of instant noodles. The only person who ever cooked for him was Ellen, and that wasn’t for _him_ specifically. He was used to cooking his own dinners, and Sam’s - nothing very fancy. The noodles Cas was making were his specialty, _Chicken Noodles à la Dean,_ and he was sure he would probably be better off if he was doing it himself. Make them the way he liked it, and it wasn’t like he couldn't, he wasn’t _that_ hurt, he’d taken worse beatings. Still, it felt nice, having someone else care for him, even if the noodles wouldn’t turn out as great. 

When Cas finally turned around, his face held the biggest smile Dean had ever seen on the angel. He made his way towards the couch, holding out a bowl of noodles in front of him. Dean could barely bring himself to look at the food, even though he was starving, because the way Cas was smiling, so proud of himself, made his stomach twist and turn (but he figured it could also just be the hunger), but for a moment, Dean thought that he would do pretty much everything to see him smile like this again. 

The time he’d spent avoiding Cas, and avoiding calling him after they met at the warehouse, had been the most excruciatingly slow time to pass, the days dragged along and he had come to the realization of how much he’d gotten used to Cas’ presence and friendship. Sam teased him endlessly, and kept telling him he was a dumbass for not talking to Cas, and in this moment, he was starting to give him credit where credit was due. 

He could totally put the kiss behind him. He’d been drunk and he couldn’t deny that he thought _Cas was pretty damn hot_ ( _for an angel_ ), or _maybe it was because of the angel thing._ But more than that, he liked Cas - he enjoyed his company more than he let him know because, in reality, Dean didn’t have that many friends - _sure he had Jo and Sam, but they were family, they had to be friends with him, and yeah, Ash would grab a beer with him sometimes, but that wasn’t the same thing._ So he liked Cas being his friend, of course, he knew there was more that he liked about Cas, and every so often the lines between friendship and wherever else there may be, got kind of blurry, especially when he drank, or when Cas touched him and it sent three million jolts of electricity through his body, or when Cas told him about the stars, and apparently when Cas cooked for him… _Where was he going with this?_

_Right - he could totally put the kiss past him, if it meant they could still hang out and be friends, Dean could definitely use a friend._

“Thanks, Cas. You know you didn’t have to do this.” Dean reached out to grab the bowl and chopsticks Cas had brought, and for a moment he felt kinda bad, wondering what Cas had been doing before he’d accidentally asked him to come. He was probably doing things in Heaven, which was very likely much more important than this, but here he was, tending to Dean like he was a baby pigeon with a broken wing. 

Castiel’s smile faltered, and his expression turned serious again, meeting Dean’s eyes as he sat on the same couch. “I know I didn’t need to do this, but I wanted to.” 

Dean found it very hard to keep Cas in the friend zone, where he desperately needed him to be, for the sake of not going crazy. But when Cas said stuff like that, it was proving hard to do. It wasn’t Cas’s fault, the angel social skills classes in Heaven were clearly lacking. The thing was, sometimes Cas said things, and they didn’t exactly mean what Dean wanted them to. He was getting used to it by now, so he just gave him a quick smile and a nod. 

The noodles weren't half bad, especially for a first try, but he made a mental note to make Cas his version of these noodles. Nevertheless, he ate the whole thing in record time, he even finished the broth that was left when all the noodles were gone, slurping loudly. He made sure to make an exaggerated satisfied sound when he was done, so Cas would be sure he enjoyed it.

Dean reached his arm to put the plate down on the floor, a movement that wasn’t agreeing with his body and he winced in pain. He was sure he had a few busted ribs and that was probably gonna hurt like a mother for the next few weeks.

Castiel followed his every move and undoubtedly noticed when Dean tried to play it cool through the pain. But Dean could feel his eyes on him and made extra effort to play it off like it didn’t really hurt. 

“Would you allow me to heal you?” Again, Cas’s voice was so soft, so gentle, and Dean wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to it.

But his heart sped up at the words, using angel mojo was a painful reminder of all that Cas was, and all he would never be. It was a strange feeling, to not doubt the angel’s intentions, because unlike last times, Dean trusted him completely now, hell he even _wanted_ him to do it. He briefly wondered if his dad would notice that the bruises and cuts were all gone, but he wasn’t planning on seeing him for the next few weeks at least, so, what the hell. 

“Yeah, sure,” Dean smiled encouragingly, hoping it would let Cas know that he was done questioning his intentions. It seemed to work because Castiel reciprocated the smile briefly before concentration took over his face. 

“Close your eyes,” the angel ordered, but there was no harshness in his voice. 

Dean obliged, knowing how bright Castiel’s grace would light up the cabin in a few seconds. It was a good thing that it wasn’t dark yet outside, because the less attention they drew to themselves the better. 

He could feel Cas shift closer towards him on the couch and then he felt Castiel’s hand rest on his cheek, carefully, like he was made out of glass. Dean thought about telling Cas that he wouldn’t break under his touch, but he wasn’t so sure if this was true, plus he didn’t really want Cas to move his hand. The angel’s hand wasn’t rough and full of calluses, like his own, it was soft and warm, and it was sending small waves of electricity through Dean’s entire body, even though he was pretty sure Cas hadn’t even done anything yet. 

Through closed eyes, he could still notice the blue light growing brighter, and Dean couldn’t help but notice how beautiful it was. The light that had haunted his dreams, his memories, and his thoughts for years, it was like a stranger in familiarity. He was no longer afraid of the rush that came over him as the light grew unbearably bright, he was in awe. 

The familiar warm sensation spread from Castiel’s hand and slowly trickled down his neck, it relaxed his shoulders, his chest, and then it took over the ache in Dean’s ribs, leaving nothing but a warm and pleasant feeling. Once again he felt every muscle in his body completely relax, and he couldn’t help but sigh and lean into the comforting touch. 

The vibrant light diminished slowly and Dean’s eyes fluttered open, and he took in the sight of the angel sitting in front of him. Castiel’s lips were slightly parted, probably from concentrating, and there was a slight color to his cheeks but his eyes, the blue eyes Dean had once refused to call pretty, were full of life and undeniably beautiful. 

For a second neither of them moved, and in that moment Dean could swear that Castiel could see right through every part of him. And then, as if by some unspoken rule, they simultaneously leaned back into the couch, the acceptable space back in between them. 

Silence set in as Dean tried out some muscles, in amazement of how his body felt totally fine when just seconds ago he was looking like he’d gone three rounds with Godzilla. 

“Thanks, Cas,” It was the obvious thing to say, and it seemed like it was the only thing he said today. 

“Don’t mention it.” Cas smiled with the side of his mouth. 

Dean cleared his throat as the silence took over once again, with every second he felt more and more awkward. Cas opened his mouth to say something, at the exact same time he also decided to speak.

“You go first,” Dean said, followed by a nervous laugh for some reason. 

“No, I interrupted you. You were going to say?” Cas pressed, and Dean combed his fingers through his hair, _god this felt like a weird dry spell on a first date._

"I assume you’ve heard about the whole negotiation?" Dean got out, glad he actually thought of something to talk about.

"Yes, I heard," Cas sounded uneasy. "Do you really think your city would free Michael?" 

"Not really," Dean admitted. "Do you think the angels will trade them just anything in return?" 

"No," Cas shook his head. He stretched out his leg in front of him, his feet grazing against Dean’s, who felt a little shock of electricity run up his leg.

"So here we are," Dean stated awkwardly, not really sure of what to say. The truth of their opposite sides had always been hanging over their heads, but never had it been more evident. 

“Here we are,” the angel reiterated, he didn’t look any more pleased about this than Dean felt.

"Are you gonna be at the negotiation?" Dean couldn't help but wonder, he knew that his chances of getting a straightforward answer were slim here, but something about this whole situation wasn’t sitting right with him, and he found himself worrying about Cas. Which was practically ridiculous, with him being an angel, a warrior most likely capable of killing every hunter present at the negotiation. 

Castiel didn’t look caught off guard like Dean had expected him to, instead he looked lost in thought. "Maybe. I don't know which angels will be present during the negotiation, nor do I know how many. But I have been assigned to many similar missions in the past, so it’s not unlikely." Castiel seemed to hesitate for a second before continuing, "It's actually the reason we met". 

Dean had to take a second to process this, sure he’d wondered why this particular angel had taken an interest in him, but it had never occurred to him that it had been because of a mission from Heaven. "You were on a mission the night you healed me from those werewolves?”

“Actually we met before that, but yes, both times I was on a mission from Heaven.” 

Dean couldn’t help but notice how Cas was actively trying to avoid catching his eye, a look of caution spread across the angel’s face. 

“The night I hit my head, that _was_ you.” Realization set upon him. This had to be what Cas was referring to, that night, all those years ago, he slipped on the ice and hit his head, only to wake up in his bed without much of a scratch. 

“Yes,” Cas answered gingerly, and his whole body had visibly tensed up, almost as if he would rather drop the whole thing.

“I knew it!” Dean’s butt almost launched off the couch cushion, he smiled widely for having figured it outright from the start. “I mean I didn’t know for sure obviously, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was familiar about you.” 

This was clearly not the reaction that Cas had been expecting, he looked somewhat relieved and because Dean didn’t want him to think he was mad about this or anything, he winked. He had no idea why, but his eye just winked, almost of its own accord. He quickly laughed it off, trying to be playful about it and not at all give Cas the wrong idea. It seemed to work, and Cas relaxed against the couch again, his leg stretching further into it, sliding up the side of Dean’s leg accidentally as he did so, again. Dean tried to ignore the small wave of heat that slid with it.

“I would have thought it was all just some crazy dream, if it wasn’t for this scar above my right eyebrow,” Dean pointed towards the tiny, white scar that had become barely visible over the years. 

Castiel sat up straight on the couch, moving closer to where Dean was sitting, his fingers stretched out until they touched the skin above the hunter’s eyebrow. He seemed lost in thought for a second, and Dean tried hard not to feel flustered at the sudden intimate touch, he was not expecting Cas to brush his thumb over his scar, and he certainly didn’t expect the warmth that spread through the back of his neck and down his spine, pooling right where Dean didn’t want to think about, with Cas hovering so close to him.

“I could have healed your wound easily that day,” Castiel’s words were barely a whisper, “without leaving a scar I mean.” Dean could feel the words against his skin, and his mind went completely blank, he’d heard Cas, but it was proving difficult to focus on anything but trying not to focus on Cas being so close, and definitely trying to look anywhere but Cas's lips.

“Huh,” _very articulate Winchester_ , Dean thought, he tried hard to think of something else to say. “Why didn’t you?” his own voice wasn’t much steadier, it was strange to be this close together without him being completely drunk off his ass, but still, the same feelings stirred in his stomach, as they did that night. 

His question hung in the air, Cas taking his time to give him any sort of answer, or even sound in acknowledgment. For a second, Dean let himself entertain the idea that Cas didn’t want this moment to end any more than he did. 

“I guess I didn’t want you to forget what happened.” The angel’s fingers brushed over the scar once more, his face cautious. Dean’s heart skipped a beat, which he could easily attribute to the events of the day and how his heart must’ve just been giving out, a small arrhythmia, he was sure, caused by stress, it had to be the cause because if it was anything else, it would’ve been due to what Cas was saying, and that scared him just a little too much to even think. "of course, if you wanted to, I could heal it completely". There it was again. _Damn, not an arrhythmia._

“No, leave it,” Dean said in a low voice, his brow slightly furrowed, and he could see Cas being taken aback, flinching his finger away from the scar in a hurry. He had no intention of making Cas think he was scared or anything of the sort, and quickly added “I don’t want to forget either.” 

They spent a few more hours talking about anything to avoid the heavy subject in the air. Dean told Cas about his first hunt, the first time he’d actually gotten to kill a vampire on his own, and how he’d actually been scared shitless the entire time, and in return, Cas told him something about some of the places he’d visited in his missions - Dean asked about certain countries, in particular, ones he’d always wanted to visit, and Cas tried his best to paint a vivid picture for him, but Cas also offered some stories of places Dean didn’t even know existed.

“Of course this was in the first year of the 17th century, so much has changed since” Cas concluded his exposition on the fishing markets and city life in some coastal town in Africa Dean had never heard of before and would have trouble pronouncing. He drank every word Cas poured, and as he felt the time tick by, he made a mental note to bring this topic up again, hearing Cas talk about all of this, was like a book he couldn’t drop, adventure and travel all wrapped into one.

It was pitch black outside by the time Dean couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore and had to try his hardest not to fall asleep, fighting his heavy eyelids. Cas was going on about something Dean was really trying to focus on, but he had no clue what continent he was even talking about, much less the time period, but he nodded along anyway - Cas’ voice was way better to drift off to, than Sam’s _nature sounds for a good night’s sleep_ , he always had playing at night (it actually creeped the hell out of Dean, but it’s not like he would tell his brother).

“Dean, you’re tired, you should rest,” Cas said with that slightly concerning tone that Dean didn’t know if he found it annoying or if he actually kinda liked it in the angel’s voice.

“ ‘M fine Cas, besides I’d be shit company if I just fell asleep right now,” his words were more of a mumble as he tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes, obviously it didn’t work. 

“That’s alright, I can watch over you,” Cas stated plainly as if it was no big deal.

“What?” This made Dean’s heart do one of those jumps like it often seemed to do whenever he was around Cas, at least he felt more awake now. 

“I don’t mind,” Cas’s face had that small smile again, that Dean admittedly thought was adorable and he didn’t think he would ever have the strength to say no to him like this. He was about to comply when the angel’s smile faltered and his face scrunched up in what looked like a mixture between focused and annoyed. 

“Cas?” Dean frowned, this time the concern was his, as he saw the angel look up at nowhere in particular, eyes squinting and lips pursing.

“It’s Heaven,” Castiel sighed, his soft and relaxed demeanor immediately replaced by the more rigid and serious angel Dean knew all too well. “They need me right now, the orders were pretty clear.” 

Dean’s heart sank. He didn’t want Cas to leave, and more so, he didn’t want Cas to be sent off to some mysterious mission, especially not with the negotiation going on later that night. He didn’t want to picture Cas standing across the hunters, he didn’t want to picture him talking to commander Barnes or his dad, he didn’t want to picture what would happen if either one of them stepped out of line and - No he wouldn’t let himself think the worst, even if the angels did attack, Cas would never kill them just out of spite, or at least that’s what he had to tell himself. 

“Will you be alright?” It was weird to hear the harshness back into Castiel’s voice, but while the look on his face was a perfect mask of his emotions, his eyes somehow held all the softness and warmth that he had shown before, and Dean couldn’t help but comfort him.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about little old me, you-” he couldn’t get the next words out, there was no point in telling the angel to be careful. “Good luck,” he wanted to say instead, to smile convincingly, but Cas was gone before he got the words out, a small breeze touching Dean’s skin, as the only trace of Cas’s presence. 

* * *

  
  


The shadows cast by the moonlight hit the forest ground, making it so that it looked as if the trees were alive and moving amongst themselves. The wind whistling through sounded like an audience had come to pay witness to the events that were about to unfold, under the careful watch of the dozens of eyes that blinked in the dark. 

Six figures stood, on one side, still and unmoving, like stone statues long-forgotten in an abandoned garden, not even the threat of a thunderstorm making them move an inch. 

The sky darkened with heavy clouds and the shadows disappeared, one by one until they stood facing each other in the cover of complete darkness. Across from the still unmoving group, one man stood tall. He was making an effort to look as steady as the ones in front of him, but the rising and falling of his chest gave his nerves away. Still, he didn’t move any more than they did. 

"We have come to negotiate the freedom of our leader," One of the six, statue-like figures spoke first. Loud enough to be heard over the rustle of leaves and branches.

"I was wondering when you’d make an appearance," Commander Barnes spoke, at no angel in particular, as they stood in line, shoulder to shoulder, not giving away who was in charge.

Commander James Barnes was a decent man. In his late forties, he’d had a busier life than most. Son of James Barnes Senior, founder and first leader of the City, he’d spent most of his childhood in the suburbs, an apple-pie type of life, until the angel attack that killed his siblings and sent his father into survival mode. Like many others in the same situation, Barnes Sr. was looking for protection, to have his last child grow up safe and sound. That's when he gathered people from around the country, some hunters, some just victims to the tragedy, and built the first walls, building an entire city protected from the outside world.

Tired of living so sheltered and always in the shadow of his father’s accomplishments, J. Barnes Jr. enlisted in the army, where the skills he’d learned in the city were useful and he felt needed. He made his way up and eventually into the green berets, where he ended up being Commander Barnes, only for a few months before he was dishonorably discharged

for killing a fellow soldier (a vampire, but he was never able to tell anyone that small detail). When he came back to the city he was but a stranger to them. Even still, he worked his way to the top, never a helpful hand from his father, and became a strong pillar of the hunter community. When Barnes Sr. passed, there were important people who advised him to take charge, who saw him not only as a skilled hunter but a wise strategist and good-willed leader. 

“We have been patient, given you the chance to release your prisoner, once you’ve realized we mean not to harm you.” A female angel spoke, and the calmness in her voice was unsettling to the hunters. 

“That doesn’t sound like a great strategy, especially for angels. Wait until we’re done with your leader?” C. Barnes scoffed, "Let's hear it then, what is your pitch? You must have one, if you’re done waiting.” The hunter spoke confidently because even though he appeared alone, he knew others stood with him.

“We have no _pitch._ We did not come to bribe you with pretty things.” One of the angels took a step forward, tilting his head, his eyes squinting as if trying to understand how one man could stand alone and be so defiant. “We know our leader, he would not have told you anything you wanted to know. So why would you keep him your prisoner? Why make yourselves our target?” One angel spoke with almost a genuine tone of curiosity.

“Let us not worry with the reasoning of these mud-monkeys, brother.” The angel who’d spoken first did so once again. He was tall and wide, and even though it was obvious any of them could kill them with a snap of their fingers, this one was more threatening than the others. “Here is our _pitch,_ monkey, you hand over Michael, or we smite you, and your offspring, and the offspring of your offspring.”

Silence fell heavy as Barnes took a breath and then, a small laugh. He stepped closer towards the angels, who all seemed to be completely unfazed by the approach, they had very little to lose after all. 

It was quiet until Barnes drew a long, thin blade from the seam of his jeans. 

"I think we'll pass," and before any of them could react he thrust the silver blade into the angel's chest with such force that the blade emerged on the other side. For a second, disbelief spread across the angel's face before it turned into an agonizing scream, a blue light emerged from its eyes and mouth before it fell to the ground, scorch marks in the shape of wings surrounding it. 

In a matter of seconds, a dozen hunters emerged from the shadows, circling Barnes and the angels. The Commander’s expression turned into a full-fledged smile as his plan unfolded before their eyes.

The five remaining angels' expressions turned from horrified to outraged, ready to unleash their anger on the group of hunters. 

"You will pay for his death, you filthy overestimated little ant." 

The circle tightened around them, and the angels stood, not a single movement even though fear flashed across their faces.

"How about we just make you pay?" John Winchester called from behind the angels, his face smug and his eyes filled with hatred. As if on cue, five more hunters, including John, drew out blades identical to the one Barnes was still holding, its surface now covered in red, and slowly, one by one, all the hunters in the circle followed, blades glistening in the dark.

Lightning struck and just seconds after, thunder echoed through the forest. The circle tightened once more and the angels showed the first signs of fear, restless.

“Have at it boys” John Winchester’s voice made itself heard over the storm that had settled above them, and horror spread over the angels' faces, all at once - they stood no chance. As if synchronized to one another, the five hunters behind the angels buried the silver blades into their backs. A simultaneous cry in pain tore through the forest, only overshadowed by manic laughter coming from Barnes Jr. The same blue light that spilled through the wound of the first angel down lit up the clearing and shone on even through the clouds, it could be seen from miles away, and it was too bright for any hunters to keep their eyes open and bear witness to their massacre. The dead bodies collapsed to the ground, their lifeless corpses tangled on the ground where impressive wing-shaped marks had scorched the forest floor, spreading through five feet of dirt.

The violent scene and blood-filled air didn't stop the hunters from laughing together and praising one another, even as the rain poured and the sky seemed to rip apart with thunder and lightning. 

* * *

Dean decided to make his way over to Bobby’s, thanking his lucky stars that he forgot to call Sam earlier that night, that was gonna save him a lot of explaining why he looked as amazing as always and not like a strawberry way past its due date. And with everything going on right now, a brawl with his dad was the least of his worries, tonight the angels would meet with the hunters to negotiate. Dean wondered what either of them thought they could possibly gain from one another. Both parties were stubborn and unlikely to give in to what the other wanted. Maybe the angels were looking for a reason to attack? Maybe the hunters were looking for- actually, Dean had no idea what the hunters were hoping to achieve during this conversation. He had always assumed they captured Michael to obtain more knowledge about angels, as a way to better project themselves. But lately, his doubts seemed to keep growing and he was less and less clear as to what the hunter’s intentions were.

Sam had suggested they could spend time with Bobby, trying to stay awake while waiting to hear the outcome of the negotiation. When Dean had briefly talked to Jo at the Roadhouse, she had told him that pretty much every hunter would be all ears and no sleep. This meeting was the most interesting thing to happen in the city since Michael’s capturing. 

When Dean got to Bobby’s cabin it was close to midnight, and he was ready to drop dead and sleep for a week straight. Even though Cas had healed his wounds, his muscles were still sore and his body felt like he’d been running marathons. Despite the few hours of sleep he got last night, he felt like he’d been awake for an entire month, and the bags under his eyes seemed to confirm this feeling. 

“Dean,” Sam’s grin greeted him when he walked through the front door. A quick glance around told him it was unlikely he’d get any shut-eye soon, Sam held a bucket of popcorn and told him that it was _Shark Week_ on the discovery channel. He nodded towards the armchair where Bobby was enjoying a beer, his eyes were glued to the tv but he lifted the beer in Dean’s general direction. 

“You must be excited for tonight,” his brother patted the spot next to him on the couch as Dean made his way to the fridge to get himself a beer.

“Sure, excited is a word for it,” he answered. It really wasn’t, a more accurate word to describe how he felt about the meeting about to take place was _anxious._ He had no idea what would go down tonight, if the angels and hunters would manage to peacefully work things out or if it would turn ugly real quick, and what if Cas would be there? The way he’d been called out so late at night, and how he left in such a hurry, gave Dean a really tight feeling in his gut, like a hand gripping him from the inside. 

Bobby gave him a weird, side-eyed look at that and looked him up and down like he was searching for something he couldn’t really find.

“You wanna take a picture, Bobby? It’ll last longer” Dean smiled sarcastically, but he didn’t dare look at the older hunter for more than a few seconds. If there was one person he had real trouble lying to - it was Bobby. Dean didn’t know whether Bobby had seen John at all today, or if someone might have told him that John looked like he had gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. If that were to be the case, Bobby would definitely be wondering how Dean was still able to walk, talk and breathe. 

Bobby didn’t respond, instead, he gave Dean a look that could mean he was either constipated or, and this was the more likely option, it meant ‘we’ll talk later’. Sam stared between them, his mind obviously catching on to the unspoken looks, but he didn’t look caught up on the whole ordeal, so if Bobby did know something, he was yet to share it with Sam.

Dean took the silence as his cue, and finally plopped down next to Sam, but his mind was elsewhere. Whether Cas was going to be at the negotiation, and he knew his dad would definitely be there, his heart raced more than he’d care to admit with a novelty worry. When Cas left he had looked angrier than Dean had ever seen him, and that was saying something. The same anger had spread across the angel’s face when he’d realized what John had done to Dean, and in that moment he crossed his fingers and hoped to the ever-loving god (if there even was one) that Cas wouldn’t try to intervene. 

“Dean, what’s up with you? You love _Shark Week,_ man” Sam pointed at the tv, visibly confused as to why Dean wasn’t paying attention. 

The rest of the night went by too slowly for his taste. He checked his watch every five minutes, and every time he did so, he could swear that time was either standing still or moving backward. Not even the vicious shark attacks could keep his mind off things, if anything they made his stomach even tighter. He was however grateful that Sam didn’t bring up their 'share and care’ moment in front of Bobby. 

More than once he drifted off, being only awoken by Sam or Bobby shouting at the men in the Tv to ‘stop being an idiot’. It was a cold night outside since it was December, but luckily Bobby kept the place quite warm with the fireplace and a bunch of fleece blankets. Every time Dean managed to doze off, he woke up to the sound of their voices, and as they watched and talked and laughed, the memory of his dad’s rage this morning left a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. When he was a kid, he’d often feel this way, being at Bobby’s, silently wishing this was his life, and this was his home. It was the same feeling now, and even though Dean didn’t really think the words, he knew they were there. 

These thoughts faded as he drifted off again, letting his head fall to rest against the back of the couch. In his dreams he found himself trying to get away from a group of sharks, their deadly sharp teeth were threatening enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but there was something captivating about them too. Suddenly he found himself chasing the sharks, trying to desperately figure out what could possibly be alluring about them, but no matter how hard he tried, he never managed to get close to them. He woke up, startled by Bobby’s angry tone, and he realized he’d actually slept for one or two hours, as the sun was starting to come up.

"Fucking idjits, those sorry sons of bitches," Bobby cursed as he threw down the phone on the table, it landed with a loud bang.

"Bobby?" Dean asked, fighting a yawn, looking over at Sam who seemed just as confused.

"They've really outdone themselves this time, I'll tell you that," Bobby didn't meet their gaze and his hand reached towards a bottle of whiskey even though it couldn’t be 8 am yet.

"What happened?" Sam questioned, and Bobby’s face made it clear he wasn’t supposed to tell them. Dean was about to intervene and pressure Bobby to do so, but the old man folded before he had to.

“They negotiated with the angels alright, all action and no words.” His mouth was agape and it was clear he thought this was a terrible event. “We killed the angels, we killed all of them” 

“What? Sam furrowed his brow as if he hadn’t gotten what Bobby had just said. “Bobby, how did that happen? Did the angels attack?” 

“We ambushed them,” Bobby shook his head, taking his hat off to brush his fingers through his hair. “They never meant to hear them out, I knew it, I’ve warned them so many times, but they never listen to me, do they? I’m just a drunken old man” His voice grew louder, he was clearly angry, but Dean wasn’t listening anymore. “Well, we are definitely more screwed than Hogan's goat, you boys better mark my words. If they think the angels will let this one slide, they’ve got another thing coming.”

Dean’s blood ran cold. His heart was beating so fast it might as well have jumped out of his damn chest. What angels? He wanted to ask, but his throat felt too dry and his mouth unable to form the words, and he was sure Bobby wouldn’t know the names of the angels killed.

_We killed the angels._

The words echoed through his thoughts, each repetition sending a bigger wave of panic through his body. He tried to replay the moment when Cas left, trying to hear the exact words again, in hopes, there was anything to ease this feeling. But it was useless, he’d been so sure Cas was going to be at the meeting.

_We killed all of them._

Dean shook his head as if it would make the thought go away. So far he hadn’t said anything, which might seem suspicious to Sam or Bobby but at this moment he just couldn’t care less about what they thought. He had to know if Cas had been there…. No, Cas was probably far away and completely fine, he had to be. His orders were probably to be carried out halfway across the globe. There was no way he would be reckless enough to stay close and let himself get hurt. Unless-

 _All of them_. 

_Fucking shut up_.

Without a word to anyone in the room Dean turned around and made his way through the front door.

He thought he could hear Sam’s voice calling out his name, but it didn’t really register, he didn’t have time to waste another second, he couldn’t explain what was going on and he sure as hell wasn’t about to take the time to do so. 

He ran as fast as his legs would allow him to, creating as much distance as his body would allow him, between him and Bobby’s house. Luckily it was in the outskirts of the city. He didn’t care that his lungs were screaming with ache and that his heart was beating so fast he felt like it might explode. He had to find Cas, right now, he had to know that he was okay. He was nearing the wall, he could see the iron gate now. Just a little further, he thought. A little voice in his head told him to keep running, to not look behind, in the case any hunter tried to stop him. 

_Cas_ , he pleaded a prayer in his head. _Cas please I need you to answer. I’m so sorry for what happened, please show up, please tell me you're okay._

_I need you to be okay._

He didn't actually mean to let this thought slip into his prayers, but he meant it. All the wallowing in self-pity over rejection seemed so pointless now, so utterly unimportant. In this moment it all became clear to him, it didn’t matter what Castiel thought of him. It didn’t matter if the angel was unable to feel any sort of desire towards him, or that angels were incapable of caring as deeply as humans could. Because no matter what Cas did or didn’t feel, Dean cared for him all the same, because he knew the way he felt for the angel, and it was all the same with him, whether it was requited or not. 

He had been trying to ignore these feelings, ever since they spent the entire night looking at the stars, when Dean had spent the whole time looking mostly at Cas and the way his face lit up every time he found a new constellation to talk about. And now that was all on the brink of being nothing but a distant memory. 

He was almost outside of the city walls now, if his legs could just hold on a little more, he could get there, he could call Cas’ name to the sky and hope to God he’d be alive to hear him, he would be able to see Cas in one piece and he would everything would be _fine. Just fine._ He ignored the tears that were burning in his eyes, they were caused by the wind, that was all. But his throat felt like it was closing up, making it even harder for him to breathe. 

He tried to keep the thoughts at bay, the ones about Cas having been at the negotiation, the possibility that he could be gone forever _._ Because he couldn’t be. He couldn’t have died before Dean had had a chance to make him feel at least one more time before Dean could tease him, and flirt with him like he meant it, he couldn’t be gone because Dean just started realizing how much he enjoyed spending time with the angel. If he knew everything could be taken away from him in a swift moment, he would have stopped sulking weeks ago. He would have used the time to get to know everything there was to know about Cas. 

As he ran, adrenaline pumped through his veins, making it so he didn’t actually feel the scar pull on his leg burning with every step. All he could think about were all of the things he still wanted to learn about Castiel, about how one night of looking up at the sky was nowhere near enough. How one stupid, way too soon drunk kiss was not enough. Not enough. He needed more. _I need more time Cas, don’t you dare die on me._

Dean reached the gate, his whole body was protesting but he was so close. Just a few more steps before he could disappear into the woods behind the walls, and yell his lungs out. He’d call for Castiel, angel of the Lord, and he couldn’t care less if anyone heard him. He just needed to know that Cas was okay. He could see the gate now, only a few feet away, and the whole time something kept repeating in his mind _please be okay, please be okay Cas, just be alive, be okay._

As he ran through the gate he felt relieved and terrified at the same time. He wanted to run towards the sheltered trees but his legs gave out underneath him and he crashed into something, hard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading yet another chapter of this fic! Honestly, it's amazing if you've stuck around this long, or if you're new; welcome! Things are getting quite intense over in the city, what do you think will happen next? Please predict away in the comments!
> 
> If there's anything you wanna know, tell or ask me, you can find me on [Tumblr](https://totallyxawesome.tumblr.com/)  
> This is also where I have been posting previews of the new chapters every Sunday, so if you want to get a sneak peek of what happens in chapter 12 be sure to keep an eye out for the next one :) 
> 
> As always a huge shoutout to my biggest support on this fic, my beta Fred, without her I would probably still be stuck on chapter 7. Go show her some love on [her Tumblr](https://https://deanqueerchester.tumblr.com//).


	12. Chapter 12

_“A simple truth?_

_We will_   
_never have_   
_today again.”_

* * *

“Dean?” The thing he had just crashed into asked with clear concern. 

Dean looked up to find Castiel crouched down in front of him, he hadn’t realized he was on the ground too. But before he could think about it he threw himself into the angel, needing to make sure this was real, that Cas was really standing there, to feel him in his arms. 

“Dean, what happened?” Castiel wrapped his arms protectively around Dean. 

For the first time in hours, Dean felt like he could finally breathe, and he realized he had been hyperventilating. 

Castiel pulled back slightly and he tried to catch Dean’s eyes. 

“Dean, I came as soon as I heard your call, what happened? Are you hurt?” Castiel’s eyes were full of worry. 

Dean wanted to tell him he was fine, he wanted to tell Cas how relieved he was to know that he was alive. Instead, all that came out is a broken sob. He was clutching and grabbing at every inch of Castiel he could touch. The worried look in the angel’s eyes only grew stronger. 

“You’re okay,” Dean managed to say in between relieved breaths. He felt incredibly stupid for being so dramatic, but he was so damn grateful that Cas was okay. He tried to focus on his breathing and as long as he could keep looking at Cas nothing bad could happen to them. 

“Dean?” It sounded more urgent this time. 

“I’m fine,” it sounded far from fine. 

“It’s not safe to stay here,” Castiel said, his eyes never leaving Dean’s face. 

Dean nodded. They were literally only a few feet away from the wall, this was too risky. 

“Let’s go,” Dean said and he knew the angel would take him to the cabin. 

Cas reached for Dean’s arm and before he could take a step forward, the angel zapped them away. When he opened his eyes again, there was no more forest, no more open sky around them, and no possibility of getting shot at from the walls. It felt like coming off of one of those roller coasters when you’re just glad to have feet on the ground again.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” The angel insisted.

“Just give me a minute,” Dean was panting and had to take a breather, he’d run all the way from Bobby’s to the forest in record time, and even though he was in the best shape of his life, he had never been the running type - unless he was running _away_ from something. He never would’ve thought he’d be running so fast _towards_ something.

Moments later Dean was sitting on the couch, his head hung back to rest on the back of the couch, his eyes staring at the ceiling, he just needed to take a breather. Cas had started pacing around the cabin. All the while he kept a nervous eye on Dean like he would fall apart again at any moment.

“Cas, now you’re making _me_ nervous.” 

“Well then, would you please tell me what’s going on? I don’t think I can bear it much longer.” 

“Can you please just sit down?” _with me,_ he wanted to add, Dean hated the distance between them. He needed to be near Cas, needed to feel the weight of Cas’s body on the couch next to him. He had to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, that he wouldn’t just wake up at Bobby’s to find out Cas was dead. The last 40 hours had his head spinning, the little he had slept at Bobby’s didn’t help him much, and the jury was still out on whether he had a concussion or not. _Could Cas have healed the concussion?_ His head was a mess, and he was just really tired. 

Cas obliged, even if stubbornly. He let himself gently fall down on the couch next to Dean, and even though it was a small couch there was still some distance between them, which Dean didn’t like, but still, he resisted the urge to skid closer. 

“Dean, would you just tell me what happened?” 

It wasn’t that easy to find the words to explain to Cas that the hunters, and to be more specific, _his dad,_ had just slaughtered half a dozen angels. Who he knew Castiel called his brothers and sisters, to make matters even worse. He had to tell Cas what happened, but there was a pit in his stomach that tightened the more he thought of how Castiel would react. Would he hate him? Would he blame him for the hunters’ actions and leave? Would he attack without question? 

All these possibilities bounced around in his head and Cas’s eyebrows raised impatiently, he knew the angel was waiting for an answer, and he had to say something.

“The negotiation, they uhm-” His throat felt dry and his heart felt like it was crawling up its way up to his esophagus. 

“Dean-” Cas interrupted him, but Dean just had to get it out because if he didn’t say it now he didn’t know if he would ever find the courage. 

“No, just, let me finish,” Dean continued. He needed to say more, to explain, to no longer leave Cas in the dark. His dad had taught him, in hunts, that when delivering the news of a death to a loved one, to be as swift as possible, blunt and emotionless. The worst thing you could give anyone right before they found out a loved one was dead, was that little shred of hope, and Dean didn’t even manage to get it right for Cas. 

“They killed them Cas, I’m sorry. I had no idea this would happen and if I did I would’ve warned you, I don’t care about the consequences, I just- this was wrong, and I should’ve known but-” He was ready to keep talking, his mouth just kept going, way ahead of his brain. Probably because it was the only way he could delay Castiel’s reaction, maybe he’d get mad and just disappear, but Dean had just gotten him back and there was no way he was letting him go again.

A hand gently touched his arm, “Dean”.

He stopped talking, and his heart was beating so loud he thought Cas might be able to hear it from the other side of the couch. Slowly, and hesitantly, he brought his eyes up from his hands to meet Cas’s. 

“Dean, I know,” Castiel said slowly, marking his words. It took him a second to understand what the angel was saying, did he believe that Dean didn’t know this would happen? He must have looked as lost as he felt because Cas continued. “I’m aware of what happened last night. It’s been hours, all of Heaven has been informed.” 

“You knew?” Dean didn’t know whether to feel relieved or just more conflicted. If Cas already knew and he was still here, with him, that was definitely a good sign, but it could also mean he didn’t have a chance to get mad, _at least not yet._

“Yes, is that why you called for me? To tell me this?” 

Dean tried not to feel the sting that came with the angel’s words, to Cas, he probably looked like a crazy person, shouting and praying his name over and over again. But did he not understand? He was only like this because of _him._ “I thought you were-” His voice cracked and he tried to steady himself before rephrasing. “I didn’t know if you were _there_ last night.”

The silence was deafening. It was times like this where Dean wished he could read Cas’s mind, or, at least, was better at reading his facial expressions - or lack thereof. A small flash of surprise crossed his face, but as fast as Dean caught it, it was gone. 

“That’s why you sounded so distressed?” Cas frowned and Dean would almost swear he was incredulous. “Because you thought I was amongst the angels who got killed in the negotiation?” 

_What part of his story didn’t the angel understand? Did he want Dean to repeat it? He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t talk anymore about what could have happened._

Instead, Dean just nodded, suddenly very aware of the flush that had risen up his neck and his cheeks. 

He could swear that Cas was staring at him in disbelief, but then his expression changed. _Was that a smile? Was Cas smiling at him?_ It was gone again, but he was sure he’d seen something, it was small and brief, but there had definitely been some sort of smile there. 

“I’m okay, I wasn’t there last night.” _There it was again, that flash of something that really resembled a smile - or a lip twitch. Maybe Cas had the twitches. Could angels even have those?_ Whatever it was, in coexistence with what he was saying, it made Dean have a twitch of his own, but this, he was pretty sure it was an actual smile. 

“Wait, you’re not mad?” He raised his eyebrows, it was understandable if he was, hell had it been the other way around Dean was sure he would be fuming. 

“I am grieving the death of my brothers and sisters, I am dealing with that in my own way. However, I do not feel any type of anger towards you, Dean. You were not the one who killed them, you weren’t there last night so you have no reason to apologize.” 

This was an expression Dean could read, it was sadness. And even though Cas didn’t hold him responsible, he still felt the weight of his kind’s actions on his shoulders. He reached for Cas’s hand, his fingers brushed against the angel’s fingers, and Dean hesitated, before resting on top of his, squeezing it gently, trying to find another way to show the angel how bad he felt. 

Cas looked down at their hands, and then his gaze turned back up at him, his mouth opening and closing. It was almost imperceptible, and Dean would have missed it completely had he not been staring at those lips all this time. He waited for Cas to say what he wanted to, he waited until the moment passed and Dean realized he wouldn’t share whatever was on his mind. 

“Please talk to me,” the words were barely a whisper. From the moment Dean had told him what happened, they had shifted closer together on the couch, their legs were only inches away from touching. Dean was pretty sure Cas was actually able to hear his heart beating this time. And when Cas answered, in the same low voice, it was like the conversation was meant only for them. 

“I don’t understand your reaction.” The angel finally got out and left it at that, until Dean squinted at him, clearly not following. “I thought you despised my kind, I thought you would be at least somewhat pleased at the news, but you seem upset, you even carry guilt for a crime that is not your own.”

Realization set in, slowly, like waves licking the sand, one after the other, until the tide covered it up completely. Castiel still saw him as an angel-hating hunter, as someone who saw _past_ him being an angel in order to be around him, and just like that some things started making sense, words cut short, constricted movements, and fleeting moments, Castiel was under the impression that Dean merely tolerated his presence. That awareness came to rest on the back of his chest, weighing on him with every breath he took, _it hurt._ It hurt him that _Cas saw him like that,_ but more than that, it _physically pained him that Cas thought he despised him, or his kind, that Dean would be happy with the murder of his family._

“Is that what you think of me?” Disbelief dripped from his voice, and he hoped Castiel could hear through those words he was actually saying. “I would _never_ be pleased with something that would make you suffer.” His voice got caught between the words, and he thought about the minutes where he thought Cas was gone. 

“Hell, man, I don’t know what to tell you, other than _you’re wrong.”_

In reality, Dean could think of a handful of things he should tell Cas, that he wanted to tell Cas, but he just couldn’t. He could hear Sam’s, annoying, voice in the back of his head, calling him _emotionally stunted_ but this was definitely not the time - Cas’ brothers and sisters had just been outright murdered, by his people, and he didn’t want to add any more to the mess, it was complicated enough as this weird, tense, friendship they had going. So he would just have to _show him._

Cas just stared at him, tilting his head in that way Dean had gotten so used to, that Dean had come to find it so _damn adorable._

“You should get some rest,” Cas’s answer didn’t really have anything to do with what he’d just said, but then he wasn’t really expecting Cas to say anything to that, _what the hell did he want Cas to say, anyway?_

“I’m not going anywhere.” He added, sending a wave of warmth through Dean, like someone stepping on his heart with fuzzy socks. And he couldn’t really argue with the fact that he needed to sleep, that much was obvious. He looked around, eyeing the bed in the only room, not really wanting to move all the way there, and moving further from Cas.

“Dean just lay back and close your eyes.” 

“Yeah, I know how sleep works, dumbo.” Dean fumbled around on the couch, not sure where he’d put his legs if he was going to lay down. Or did Cas mean he should lay his head back? Maybe he should just stretch his legs in front of him, and if Cas moved he’d lay like that, if he didn’t he’d find another way. _Yeah, sound plan._

The angel rolled his eyes, but he didn’t try to argue with him. Instead, he sat back against the couch, his body relaxed until Dean’s feet touched his legs with enough pressure for Cas to know he was planning to place his legs there. 

Cas’s body tensed for a second, before removing his hand from his lap and letting Dean rest his legs on the angel’s lap. And as soon as Dean let himself relax, melting into the couch cushions, he didn’t have much trouble asleep. 

When he woke up, it was already dark in the cabin, and Dean figured he must have been asleep for at least a few hours. The room felt warm and Cas looked like he hadn’t moved an inch in the time Dean was asleep, his legs still resting on the angel’s lap. He heard the familiar sound of crackling and realized where the warm glow was coming from, the fireplace was lit. Flames high and the logs already turning to ash in the bottom, which meant that somewhere along the day, Castiel had gotten up, and sat back down carefully placing Dean’s legs on his lap again. Dean’s cheeks turned a pinkish hue that he tried to hide before Cas could see he was awake. He lay like that, eyes closed and all for another few minutes. 

In that time, he felt content, relieved to have Cas safe and sound sitting there, so close to him. For the first time in days, he was able to feel relaxed, maybe even more so than he ever did on his own bed. He was still lying comfortably on his back, the heat from Cas’s body warming his feet, and that’s when he noticed it. Cas’s fingers danced along his ankle, distractedly drawing lines up his leg, light as a feather, it was strangely soothing. He was lucky Dean wasn’t ticklish, or he would’ve received a kick in the chin by now, he was also lucky Dean was enjoying it a little more than he should be, so much more, in fact, that he kept his eyes closed, just so Cas wouldn’t stop. 

“You’re awake,” the fingers stopped moving, and Dean didn’t know if it was a question or a statement. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” he gave Cas a little smirk, still hoping he would keep doing the thing with his fingers. Unfortunately for Dean, instead, he pushed his legs aside and got up in a haste.

“I have to go. I didn’t want to wake you, or leave you when I promised I’d stay.” _Ouch._ “But I need to meet with my brother.” 

Dean was sure he’d had some sort of reaction because Cas was quick to add that he would be back as soon as possible. Dean couldn’t say he was happy about this, he didn’t want Cas to leave, to go out when it was apparently open season on angels, but, in a flutter of wings, Cas was gone before he could come up with any reason for him to stay. 

A deep-seated gloominess set camp in the back of Dean’s stomach. He tried to ignore it, to make it go away with food. His specialty noodles were heating on the stove, in probably more quantity than he could eat, just in case Cas would come back sooner rather than later. The feeling turned into an actual stomach ache when Cas didn’t come back, and Dean had to eat all of it on his own. 

He checked his watch - _9 p.m, shit -_ he had to call Sam. It was just a matter of locating his phone… Dean searched the room to check where he’d left it, but it wasn’t anywhere obvious. _Jacket!_ He remembered slipping it into his pocket at Bobby’s. 

_16 missed calls_

_Shit._

Dean dialed Sammy’s number from one of the lost calls and fidgeted as he waited, what the hell was he supposed to tell him?

“ _Dean!”_ Sam’s voice on the other end of the line sighed in relief. He could hear Bobby shouting something in the back- _good, he was still at Bobby’s._ He didn’t know whether John would be able not to take his anger out on Sam. “ _You jerk, you had me calling up every goddamn friend of yours, you can’t just run out like that and then not take my calls for the rest of the day.”_

“Sorry Sammy, but hey, at least it wasn’t a long list to go down.” He chuckled, but something told him Sam didn’t think it was that funny. “I’m okay, I promise”

 _“Where the hell are you, anyway?”_ Well, there was a question he couldn’t answer. He didn’t like lying to Sam and would avoid it as long as he could. After a few seconds of silence, he got the message across. “ _Fine, can you at least tell me if you’re with someone?”_

“I’m with Cas,” Dean offered up the name, it’s not like he could figure out he was an angel just from that. “He needed me,” that was the best attempt at an explanation he could muster. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it was more the other way around, he needed Cas, and when he ran out, he specifically needed Cas to be alive. 

This seemed to be enough to keep Sam’s questions at bay and have him tell some version of the truth to Bobby. 

“Listen, can you put Bobby on the phone?” 

Sam protested for a minute before calling quits, and Dean heard the phone being shuffled around. 

_“What the hell happened with you? You looked like you’d seen a damn ghost. I didn’t even know you could run that fast.”_

_“Yeah, Sam will fill you in. I have to ask you something, Bobby.”_ He knew perfectly well Bobby didn’t know about the ambush before it happened - he had seen his reaction, and there was no doubt about it. But there was something Bobby could know.

“ _Shoot._ ”

“How were they able to kill them? I thought it was impossible to kill an angel.” For what felt like a whole minute, there was silence, and Dean thought the line had gone down, “Bobby, you there?”

A grunt was all the answer he needed. A few more moments passed and Dean was getting impatient. “ _I really shouldn’t be telling you this,_ ” Good, that’s what Bobby always said before proceeding to tell him whatever it was he was not supposed to know. After a few seconds of hesitating, Dean realized he’d have to convince him to spit it out, Bobby could be such a stubborn bastard sometimes.

“C’mon Bobby, it’s me, you know you can tell me!” 

“ _Maybe I’d be more inclined to tell you if I thought we weren’t keeping secrets from each other._ ” Dean facepalmed on his end of the line, Bobby could very well be the actual originator of the feign hurt act. Dean knew very well what he was aiming at, he’d seen the way Bobby looked at him back at his place like he couldn’t believe his eyes - it was obvious he already knew what had gone down with his dad, and was expecting him to be looking like a _Thriller_ music video reject.

“We don’t keep…” He couldn’t continue the lie, he would think of something later, but right now, over the phone and with Sammy eavesdropping, he couldn’t risk telling Bobby the truth, especially considering a whole angel massacre had just gone down and he was literally bunking with the enemy. “We’ll talk later, I swear, now, for the love of everything that is sacred, would you please just tell me how they did it?” 

An unhappy gruntle preceded the actual words that came from the other end of the line. Dean nodded at the information, and thanked Bobby for it, saying his goodbyes.

“ _So when do you suppose we’ll have the honor of seeing your majesty, again?”_

“Not for a few days, I need to deal with some personal crap. I’ll call you when I head back.”

_“Sure, you just give me a call when you come back from, where was it again?”_

“Nice try old man,” Dean couldn’t help but let out a laugh. 

_“Worth a shot. Keep me posted, Don Juan.”_

He tried to occupy the rest of his night with reading and watching one of the Clint Eastwood films he’d downloaded into his laptop. His wristwatch displayed the numbers to indicate it was already 1 am when he finally decided to try to get some sleep.

The room was cold, as the heat from the fireplace didn’t get through this door. It wasn’t very dark since there were no blinds in front of the window, only some shitty curtains, so nothing to cover the shadows from the trees and the way the moonlight danced around on the wall in front of him, an eerie sight, and the forest noises were creepy enough that he got back up to get his mp3. It was the same one he’d filled up all throughout high school, and even though he didn’t even like some of the songs anymore, it was his most prized possession (aside from his car, and his gun, and the necklace Sam had given him - ok so maybe it wasn’t his most prized possession, but still, it was _important_ ). 

* * *

_Dean found himself standing in the forest just outside the city, it wasn’t hard to recognize the dark shadows of the tall trees and the pathways carved out by generations of hunters. He tried to remember what he was doing here, why he had come here during nighttime. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, Cas, he was looking for Cas. He looked around but there was no sign of the angel, no sign of anyone._

_“Cas!” He called out the angel’s name, he suddenly wondered if he had to be quiet. Anxiety crept up in his stomach like a thousand tiny critters, all trying to dig their way out. He looked around again, unsure of where to go, the only thing he knew was that he had to find Cas._

_The ground was unsteady underneath his feet and every step felt heavier than the next. His head was light and dizzy, but his legs felt like they were tied down by lead, making it damn near impossible to navigate through the dark forest. A loud scream caught his attention and he turned around as fast as he could, his breathing heavy and his heart beating fast. The scream sounded again, and Dean could feel it tear through him like a hot knife. He had to collect himself, he had to find out where the screaming was coming from. But how could he do anything with his palms sweaty and his legs trembling beneath him?_

_Another scream. Dean felt like he was going to throw up, cold sweat drenched him, and his heart was beating so loudly in his throat he thought it might jump out. He wiped away the sweat on his brow with the back of his sleeve and screwed his eyes shut in hope that the forest floor would stop spinning when he opened them again. He took a shaky breath, his entire body felt as if it was covered in fire ants, it made his skin crawl, but at least his surroundings had stopped spinning long enough for him to get a better look around._

_Suddenly he spotted a figure doubled over on the ground, gripping his stomach tightly with his arms. He recognized him immediately, it was Cas. He was wearing the same clothes as he had when Dean first met him, however now, the metallic-like material of his shirt was completely stained with a dark liquid. Dean’s legs were moving before he realized he was sprinting towards the angel with all the strength he had left. He tried to call out for Castiel again, but his throat was too dry and hoarse, no sound escaped his lips._

_He was almost close enough for the angel to see him, close enough to reach out. But his legs wouldn’t move, he struggled to run, to walk, to move a single muscle - they just wouldn’t budge._

_Dean cried out but his voice seemed so far away, the angel had been right there, arm’s reach, but the harder he tried to reach him, the further away he drifted, slipping through his fingers._

_“Dean,” the angel pleaded, blood gushing from his mouth as he spoke. And suddenly there he was, kneeling right in front of him. His legs finally moved and he bent down to see his face._

_“No, Cas, don’t talk, please,” Dean’s shaking hands were completely covered in the dark liquid, but he wouldn’t let it get to him, he couldn’t be weak when Cas needed him._

_“Dean,” his name fell from the angel’s lips again, more urgent this time. He wanted to scream for help, he wanted for someone to help them but he knew there was no one there._

_A cough followed by a choking sound filled the air, and it took everything Dean had not to press his hands over his ears. He looked on as the angel whom he cared so much for, started choking on his own blood. And there was nothing he could do, he was useless. Tears started blurring his vision as he pleaded over, and over again for Cas to be okay. Castiel’s name was like a prayer on his lips. With a soft thud, the angel collapsed in front of him, his motionless body pressed against the cold forest floor. Dean didn’t know when he had started hyperventilating, but he found it harder and harder to breathe. His throat was closing and his entire body was trembling, this can’t be happening, Cas needs to be okay, his thoughts were loud and disorienting. He wanted to scream, he wanted to run away as far as possible but his body was so heavy, and he was so tired._

He screamed, but no sound came out, when a strong hand landed on his shoulder, shaking him gently. 

“Dean?” Blue wide-eyes were staring at him, searching his face in concern. There he was, Castiel sat on the side of the bed with not even a scratch on him. 

“Cas?” It came out more like a broken whisper, but Dean didn’t care. He didn’t care what the angel thought of him in this moment, because Cas was alive, he was _okay._ Relief washed over him and for the second time, he found it impossible to stop himself from pulling the angel close. He sat up and wrapped his arms around Cas, granted it was somewhat of an awkward angle but he couldn’t give a fuck about the pulling ache in his back right now. 

Cas didn’t say anything, he just wrapped his arms around Dean in return, waiting until his breathing slowed down. They breathed together in silence, with Cas soothingly rubbing small circles across his back. Once his breathing had calmed down, he sat back to look at the angel again, just to make sure the whole thing had been a nightmare and Cas wouldn’t suddenly disappear. 

Dean didn’t realize tears were still streaming down his face until Castiel gently wiped one away with his finger, his eyes still concerned but a comforting smile on his lips. 

“Do you want to take a shower?” Castiel’s voice was soft and gentle as if he was afraid that a loud sound might startle him. 

Dean’s mind didn’t immediately comprehend the question until he realized that his shirt was stuck to his back like a wet blanket. God, he must smell awful, and if he wasn’t completely drained he might have cared that Castiel was sitting only inches away from him.

“Yeah, I guess,” his voice was still somewhat unsteady. The truth was that he could use a nice hot shower, to wash away the nightmare and soothe his aching muscles, but that also meant leaving Cas out of his sight, and he didn’t know if he could do that at the moment.

His heart started beating faster again, his mouth felt dry as cotton and _why was the room spinning?_ Dean balled his hands up into fists, digging his nails into the palm of his hand with all his strength, he _had_ to get a grip, this was pathetic. 

Without a word, Castiel started to slowly pull the covers away from him, until they no longer covered his legs. Dean felt the angel’s hand grab a hold of his, squeezing it gently. 

“Come on,” Cas said as he started leading him out of the room, never letting go of his hand until they reached the tiny bathroom. 

Dean watched as Castiel fumbled with the knobs of the shower until hot water poured out, fogging up the small mirror above the sink. He could feel a slight blush creep onto his cheeks now, normally, he wouldn’t hesitate to undress and just step into the shower, but this was _Cas._

As if reading his thoughts Cas stepped back towards the living room, Dean was half relieved but half displeased by the thought of having the angel out of his sight. But Cas didn’t disappear from the bathroom, instead, he sat down in the door opening, his shoulder leaning against the doorframe and his back turned to the shower. 

“You don’t have to-” 

“Don’t worry about me, just take a shower,” 

Dean frowned, once again the fine line between awkward and acceptable didn’t hold up between them. However, he couldn’t argue with the angel’s logic so he just rolled with it. Sure, it felt a little weird to lift his shirt over his head, and kick off his boxers with Cas sitting right there but the angel seemed still like a statue. 

Once he felt the hot water run over his back he couldn’t help but let out a relieved sigh. He let the warmth relax his muscles, closing his eyes as the water ran across his face, washing away the trace of any tears. 

An image of Castiel’s lifeless body flashed through his mind, his eyes shot open, immediately looking for him in the doorframe, but he was still there, still sitting on the floor of the old outpost cabin. 

“So, how did things go with your brother?” He had to get his mind off things, keep himself from thinking back to- _no_. 

The water was definitely helping, and he finally felt himself get more relaxed. It didn’t take a brainiac to figure out all this emotional outburst, which wasn’t all that usual for him, was partly due to the lack of sleep and incidents intense enough to bulldoze the psyche of even the strongest hunters out there.

“My brother,” Castiel paused, “his name is Gabriel, you may have heard about him, he feels Metatron is behind the attack.”

This caught Dean’s attention. “Wait, Gabriel, as in _the archangel Gabriel?_ And he thinks your leader is behind the slaughtering of its own kind?”

The back of Castiel’s head moved in a nodding motion, confirming.

“Yes, we can’t be sure of course, but we have our suspicions. We are trying to gather more angels who also disagree with Metatron’s regime.” 

Reluctantly he turned the water off, stepping out of the shower, and grabbing a towel. Cas still sat, his back leaning on the door frame, and Dean took a look at his watch - _6 am -_ and wondered if angels needed sleep.

“Wow, Heaven is starting to sound more and more like a bad teenage flick,” Dean wrapped the towel around his waist, tucking it in at the side, and made his way to the bedroom to sit on the bed, just in time to catch Castiel’s confused expression. “Sorry, I just mean, it’s a lot to handle.” 

Cas smiled at that, raising his eyebrows and letting the back of his head hit the door frame behind him. “You have no idea,” and the angel chuckled - _he actually chuckled -_ and suddenly almost all of the weight of the last few hours left Dean’s shoulders, and he felt like it was okay to smile back. 

“So, you’ve probably put two and two together by now, but I think I know what was in those boxes in the warehouse...” Dean said as he put deodorant on.

“Angel blades,” Castiel finished for him. “It’s the only thing capable of killing an angel.”

“I was gonna go with _shish-kebangel-sticks_ , but-” he noticed Cas’s look. “That works too,” Dean nodded and quickly went into explaining what Bobby had told him, even though there wasn’t much to go on. 

He got up from the bed in the meantime and took some boxers out of his duffel. His back was turned to Cas, but he didn’t hear him move - if this was anyone else he’d probably just do it right there, he was a guy, not like he had never seen it before, _had he?_ He should probably just casually try to get them on without dropping the towel around his waist, it was the normal thing to do, it’s what he’d do if it were Sammy in the room. 

_Just don’t make it weird. Don’t. Drop. The. Towel._

“Yes, that’s most likely what was in the boxes we saw. This drives me to a very unsettling conclusion, that-” 

Dean tried to focus on what Cas was saying while attempting the (apparently much more complicated when being watched) task of getting his boxers on under the towel. 

“We could talk later? You seem very distracted.”Castiel said as he got up in a haste, leaving the room, clearly avoiding eye contact and Dean almost smacked himself in the head for making him uncomfortable again. 

* * *

The day passed by, Dean cleaned his gun and spent most of the afternoon outside the cabin cutting wood for the fire. He wasn’t sure how Castiel occupied himself inside, but he figured that he wouldn’t pry, as long as he knew the angel was safe and close, he could relax. What he hadn’t expected though, was that as he came back inside when his hands had gotten too cold in the January chill, Castiel had been keeping himself busy by going through the entire contents of his duffel bag. It was all there, spread out across the wooden floor - jeans, jumpers, underwear, t-shirts, knives, gun, ammo, energy-bars, holy water, a bible, a measuring tape, a book, his mp3 and headphones, his hunting journal, a bunch of pens he didn’t even remember he had tossed in there. Before he could even react, his gaze found Castiel, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of all of his things, smiling at a piece of paper. Upon closer inspection, still, the grimace of incredulity spread across his face, he realized his _actual wallet_ was open on Cas’s knee, all its innards on the ground - still to be organized as the contents of the duffel - and the piece of paper Castiel was inspecting was the picture he kept in his wallet. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He couldn’t help the anger dripping from his words, loud and startling the angel. This short-fused temper was something he’d clearly gotten from his father, and he hated it, he loathed the times when he spoke, harshly, and heard John’s voice instead. Bobby used to say Winchesters had a fuse so short they made volcanoes look stable. 

“This is a lovely picture,” Castiel said, unperturbed by Dean’s reaction. “Is it your mother?” His voice was mellow and delighted. It completely unarmed Dean, who just stood there, flabbergasted. 

“Uhm, I-Yes.”

“I apologize about the disarray. I was bored. I’m not used to being so long between four walls.” Dean felt his blood cooling inside, as Castiel spoke. Maybe it wasn’t such a big deal, it’s not like he had any secrets in his bag. It was more-so that he was (contrarily to Sam’s beliefs) a neat freak - everything should be exactly as he wanted it to be, which is not to say it had to _appear_ organized, but he knew where everything was and he had a _system._ “She’s beautiful, I can see the resemblance,” Cas smiled at him and Dean instantly felt the heat rising on his neck and up to his cheeks. 

“Thanks --I mean, yeah, she is-- was.” Dean might never have been a Pablo Neruda with his words, but _shit,_ he could usually sound coherent at least _._ The anger demonstration faltered as fast as it’d set in, and Dean approached Cas and on his heels next to him. “That was one of the last days I remember having with her. Sammy was just a baby and we went to the park and-” it was a sentimental memory Dean wasn’t used to sharing with anyone, let alone sharing the last actual physical remembrance he had of his mom, and there Cas was, holding it in his hand, tenderly outlining her figure. “-it’s a nice memory, is all.”

Dean huffed into his hands, but couldn’t warm them. “C’mon Cas, why don’t you put this all away again, and come help me carry all the lumber inside?” 

Cas nodded and did as he was told.

Dean made dinner, checking other items off of the ‘ _Cas’ Firsts_ ’ list he kept in his mind. Spaghetti Tacos and Ginger Ale, he grinned as Cas managed to make the biggest mess ever, tomato sauce all over his hands and chin, but an amused smile and full mouth.

“I don’t think spaghetti is meant to be eaten as these shells, and it’s not my fault, you haven’t given me the proper cutlery!” The more he fussed, the more Dean laughed, thoroughly enjoying the moment. 

“But is it good?”

“Yes, this is superb. Did you come up with the recipe yourself?” 

Dean chuckled and nodded ‘ _sure’_ because he couldn’t give the credit to the babysitter that had shown it to him when he was 6, now could he? Not when Cas was looking at him like he put the stars in the sky.

“Hey Cas, we haven’t gotten a chance to finish what we were talking about this morning.” He remembered the conversation they’d left hanging, curiosity having the best of him. “Why did you leave, anyway?” He didn’t know if the angel would actually tell him, he was really wobbling over the line between flirty and being a plain asshole. 

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Cas just stated, slurping a noodle into his mouth. It was impossible to take him seriously, but his answer didn’t tell him he was crossing into dangerous territory, and he found the way Cas’s ears turned red extremely endearing _._

“But satisfaction brought it back!” Dean smirked, a smug _checkmate_ look on his face.

Cas rolled his eyes, looking annoyed. “I wouldn’t have thought you knew the ending of the proverb, it dates back to the witch trials and there’s barely any mention of the whole proverb.” 

Dean did his best attempt at looking terribly offended. Cas seemed amused by it. “Do you want me to share the conclusion I was mentioning this morning, or are you going to keep boasting?”

“Fine, fine. What were you getting at?”

“Well, we were talking about the warehouse, and how the boxes we found were likely filled with angel blades.” Castiel’s expression turned serious and he cleaned the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “So that led me, as I said, to a very unsettling conclusion.”

“This isn’t a movie Cas, no need for suspense! What is it?” Dean was being impatient, he was aware, and Cas’s pause probably had more to do with the weight of what he was about to say than with building suspense.

“I think it’s safe to assume that an angel had to have given hunters the blades.” He sighed, a deep sorrow etched in the creases of his forehead, and pursed lips framed his eyes. “This is unquestionably serious if it is true. Angel on angel violence, even if it is through the weaponizing of hunters, is the worst crime any angel can commit.”

Dean had no good answer for that. It made sense to him, he didn’t think hunters had any idea of the mere existence of such a weapon, as far as he knew up until not long ago, there was no way to kill an angel. So, it made sense the knowledge had come from higher up. 

“That’s fucked up man,” he ended up saying. “Do you know of anyone who would do something like that? What about that Megatron dude?” 

“His name is Metatron, Dean,” he stood corrected. “And, yes, he is the obvious suspect, I just don’t see why he would do such a thing, to kill another angel, the punishment would be worse than death. And even if we assume he’s attempting a coup, he is still an angel, it’s unlikely he would risk the lives of his own kin, however not impossible.”

They dropped the conversation pretty quickly after that. Dean had no idea what to say, and Castiel seemed more focused on thinking, and staring out of the window rather than talking about it. So he let the angel have his time, he wouldn’t mention it again until Cas would bring it up. 

The night was running long and Dean was still exhausted. He hadn’t had a good night’s rest in at least a few days, and the previous night posed no exception. He leaned against the door frame of the bedroom, his shoulder against the wood, and stared at the bed pensively. The harder he wished to sleep, without the nightmares, the more confident he was in the fact that it probably wasn’t going to happen, and as tired as he was he really didn’t feel like putting himself through it again. He cursed the fact that he hadn’t brought a bottle of Jack to lull him into a dreamless slumber. 

“Are you alright?” A voice jolted him from these thoughts. _Not really,_ he wanted to say, but the words stuck to his throat. “Are you worried that you will have trouble sleeping tonight?” 

Sometimes he wondered if he really was _that_ transparent, or if Cas could read his mind or something.

“Last night you told me-,” Dean cleared his throat, vomiting the words before he could think them through. “You said you wouldn’t mind, uhm-” he felt kind of ridiculous asking, but it was better than the risk of another _fucking night of hell._

“Would you like me to stay here tonight?” Castiel finished for him, which made it easier. He didn’t have to ask if Cas was offering.

“Yeah, that is- if you don’t mind.” He didn’t know how much it would actually help him sleep, but knowing that if he woke up in a complete state of panic, and he could see that the angel was okay, was the best shot he was gonna get at some rest. 

“I don’t mind,” Cas gave him a soft smile as he followed Dean into the bedroom.

Castiel offered to sit on the floor while he slept, obviously wanting to keep some space between them. And for a second Dean wondered if Cas was afraid he would try to kiss him again, but he wasn’t drunk this time, and the distance between them had become considerably less over the past two days. But he decided it was ridiculous to ask the angel to sit on the floor for at least six hours when there was a perfectly fine double bed next to them. 

He considered sleeping on the couch and offering Castiel the bed, but that seemed pointless. It was becoming quite ridiculous how much he needed the angel to be close to him, to keep him within his sight. It was turning into an unhealthy habit that he would need to kick rather sooner than later. But for now, he was tired, _so tired_ , and he didn’t feel like arguing with logic, so he didn’t. Cas didn’t refuse when Dean offered him to share the bed, _in the decent sense of the word,_ and he couldn’t help but feel relieved about the lack of rejection to his offer. 

When they made their way into the cramped bedroom the lack of space in between them made Dean regret his decision, how had this not been awkward the night before, when he held Cas as the nightmare washed away? 

He tried to shake the memory of the night before as he took his shirt off. Dean unbuckled his belt, slowly, painfully aware of the eyes on his back. He dropped his jeans to the floor and to his surprise the angel followed his lead, stripping down to nothing but his boxers.

Once again Dean found himself wishing that he had more self-control and cursed his eyes for not being able to look away from Castiel’s body. His eyes darted over the muscles in his chest, the amulet Cas always wore, down to the muscles in his stomach _and that fucking V-muscle, the shrilling glory trail from his navel, down to his-_ _okay, that’s enough!_ Dean had to look away, turn his focus into something else, _anything else - shark week, WrestleMania, the entirety of the bee movie -_ the fabric of his boxer shorts suddenly felt tighter - _no, no this couldn’t be happening,_ he turned around, hoping to be inconspicuous, - _okay, just breathe, bobby, bobby in a hula skirt, the weird lunch lady who was a little too touchy back in seventh grade -_ he let himself fall down on the bed finally taking a breath when the godforsaken imagery served its purpose.

Dean propped himself up in his right elbow, slumping against the wall, and took another good look at Cas - _big mistake._ In fact, this whole idea was looking a whole lot like the worst idea since the invention of bras. But it wasn’t like he could just go back now. His heart raced when he felt the weight of Cas’s body pressing down on the mattress, enough to make it so that Dean felt his whole body sliding towards the middle of the bed. It probably wasn’t the ideal size for the two of them, but somehow they managed. 

Dean’s back stayed pressed firmly against the wall and still, there was barely any space between them, but as long as Cas didn’t mind being this close together, he was the last one to complain. Even though it made it surprisingly harder to ignore the electricity in the air, Dean closed his eyes for a second, trying to push away every thought he had about reaching out and touching the angel next to him.

He tried to keep his eyes closed, and just focus on Cas’s breaths, counting them like sheep. If he just kept listening to his breathing, he could fall asleep fully sure that Cas was alive and well and maybe he wouldn’t dream about those horrible images again.

The room was immersed in deep silence, only disrupted by their breathing. The hours had passed, one after the other, and Dean was still counting. When he got to high hundreds, he gave up. It was dark, and he was tired, but somehow sleep didn’t come to him. He looked at the ceiling and tried to find the weight of Cas pulling him towards him, but his body had gotten used to it by now. 

His voice came, in a whisper, and Dean had no idea of what to say if the angel replied - he just wanted to hear his voice. “Hey Cas, are you awake?” 

The sudden shift in his breathing was all the answer he needed, though a soft-voiced answer confirmed it. “Yes,” a pause, “why are _you_ awake?” 

“I can’t sleep.”

“Can’t or won’t?” _That was a good question._

“I’m not sure exactly.” There was something about talking like this, under the cover of darkness, in these hours that felt completely separate from life outside, that made everything much easier to just be honest. Dean felt calm and steady, eyes closed and body limp, every question had an answer and every answer would be true. He wondered, for a second, if Cas felt the same, or if this was a purely human sensation, directly connected to being tired and half asleep. 

“Can I ask you something, Dean?” The way his name fell, in a dragged-out mumble, sent a small electric signal, from the tips of his toes to the back of his neck. 

“Shoot.” 

“Were you really afraid that I was killed at the negotiation?” The mention of the event sent a distress signal throughout his entire body, tensing up. It took a few inhales and as many exhales before he spoke, hushedly again.

“Fucking terrified.” 

He opened his eyes and turned his head on the pillow, trying to make out Cas’s reaction, it was difficult to see in the dark, but he was pretty sure he could make out a smile. No doubt that Cas was sure Dean couldn’t see it, because it never faltered, it just lingered there. 

“Can _I_ ask something?” He sure as hell wasn’t about to leave _that_ hanging in the air. Cas made a small noise in agreement. “Have you ever done this before?” 

“Do you mean sharing a particularly small bed with a human?” 

“I mean- everything,” he didn’t really know what he even meant by everything, partly he was just referencing being this close to someone, sharing the parts of themselves that not many other people had seen before, and somewhere the everything linked to being this physically close to someone. 

“No.” 

The answer was simple, yet it could mean anything and for a second Dean regretted asking, because if sleep was fleeting before, it was now completely gone. His heart fluttered more than he’d care to admit, he couldn’t stop all the thoughts that came rushing in, all the things Castiel had just admitted he’d never shared with anyone before. And he was more than happy to be able to hide his blush in the dark. 

They stayed quiet for a while, Dean didn’t want to talk about something else, so no other answer could ruin the one he’d just gotten. The gap between them was enough that they weren’t touching, but their fingers were close enough that if he puffed his chest, it would probably graze Cas’s. He wanted to reach out, wanted to feel the warmth and comfort of the angel’s hand in his, but his conscience stopped him. 

“Would it be alright if I asked you a somewhat personal question?” Castiel’s voice pulled him back to reality, where he’d lost himself just seconds ago, he didn’t know, perhaps between the lingering gap of their fingers. 

A disingenuous idea crept up, and Dean spoke, between the parting lips of the knowing smirk growing on his face. “Tell you what,” he tried to keep his voice low, but the mischievous tone gave him away, and he felt like a young boy all over again. “For every question, I also get one. No lying, no passing, no consequences.” 

His heartbeat fastened, and he could feel it on his fingertips, he was almost worried it would cause them to reach out of their own accord.

“That seems fair,” Cas turned to lay on his side, now facing him, and Dean’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest. Even in the dark, he could tell Cas’s eyes were open, even if hooded and tired looking, still the same blues. “Did you always know you were into women and men? Sexually speaking I mean.” 

The question caught him by surprise and in seconds Dean felt pretty vulnerable. A gentle smile from Cas was all it took for the calmness to set in between them again, and he realized there was no need to feel uncomfortable, or even awkward. 

“I don’t really know, I guess, yeah,” Dean didn’t break the eye contact Castiel had locked between them, it was intense and it made the words coming out of his mouth seem so insignificant. It was the first time anyone had ever asked him this, point-blank, and the first time he’d tried to answer, still, it wasn’t something he was particularly apologetic of - he’d never been one to be ashamed of his sexuality, but it wasn’t really something he ever talked about, especially at home. “I mean, I had only ever been with girls up until high school, I never really thought about it, and then one day I just got with a guy and that was that, felt pretty normal to me.” 

Cas nodded along, but his face betrayed that he wanted to ask something else. Dean raised his eyebrows letting him know he could. 

“Does your city know?” 

Dean couldn’t help a small laugh escaping his throat, “Not the whole city, at least I don’t think so.” He raised his eyebrows, wondering how every hunter in the city could possibly be bothered enough to care. “Sammy knew from the start, I guess we could only watch so many Mickey Roarke movies ‘for the plot’ before he made me. And he was chill about it. My dad, that’s a whole other thing, and I honestly have no idea if he knows and pretends he doesn’t, or if he’s just that thick.” Cas pouted a little and Dean didn’t want him to feel bad about this, so he just kept going, _because ‘family don’t end with blood’_. “I didn’t think Bobby knew, until one day I said I was a straight shooter and he laughed.” Dean couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory, “and then he told me I was as straight as a spaghetti noodle.” This was a great memory he had of Bobby. He’d been staying with him for a few weeks, and he loved every second of it. Sammy was there too and they ate dinners together, went to school with Sammy in the morning, it was the closest he ever got to a normal family. 

“A spaghetti noodle?” Dean could see Cas’s expression, the longer he kept his eyes on him, getting used to the dark, and it was all over his face, he had no idea what Dean was talking about, which, as usual, he found adorable.

Dean chuckled, feeling somewhat flustered at the memory. “Yeah, you know, straight until in hot water.” He remembered feeling like the tiniest insect, just 19 years old, a hunter in training, thinking he was so slick and no one could tell, just to hear Bobby being so casual about it, hell, laughing about it even. It was just another one of the million ways in which he felt Bobby was more of a dad to him than John ever was. Regardless of John knowing or not, this was _definitely_ something they would never laugh about. 

“What does water have to do with your sexuality?” 

“It’s a metaphor, Cas” Dean sighed, Cas wasn’t the most pop-culture savvy and it was absolutely endearing to him. “Anyway, I believe I’ve earned my shot at a question, don’t you think?”

“Yes, that was our just stricken agreement. What would you like to know?” 

It had been on the back of his mind all this time apparently because it was the first thing that came out of his mouth. “ Can angels, you know, _feel things_?” 

“Of course. Cold, tiredness, pain-” It’d been hard enough to get it out, and Dean was pretty sure Cas was bustin’ his balls.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“You mean emotions. Sadness, happiness, hope, lust, ” Castiel corrected him. They were no longer whispering, the longer they talked the less likely it was for sleep to come, and with that, their voices rose too, even though they remained soft-spoken, “love…”

Dean nodded. That still wasn’t an answer. “Remember Cas - no lies, no passing, no consequences.”

“I can’t speak for all angels, just for myself.” He hesitated. His eyes finally dropping from Dean’s, down to the mattress, or his own hands, Dean couldn’t tell. 

“Look at me,” An almost pleading sound, and another squeeze of his hand. Castiel looked back up at him. “Speak for yourself.”

“ I- Yes.” One word, three little letters, and Dean’s entire being was set afire. He wasn’t an idiot, Cas had made it a point that he was speaking for himself. And of course, he could still be talking about some other moment in his life - _his eternity of life -_ but for the moment he allowed himself to hope this point in time was just what he was talking about. He would love nothing more than to leave it at that, to just fall asleep swayed by that little shimmer of hope that Cas could feel something for him. 

“Good,” he found himself murmuring as he nuzzled his pillow. 

* * *

A beam of light flickered stubbornly over Dean’s eyes before he even opened them, he could tell it was early, too early, to do so. He tried to keep them closed in an attempt to fall back into the dream he’d been having - a good dream, involving pie and a beach, and...it was gone. 

He opened his eyes reluctantly, feeling even more annoyed when he found the whole room was still dark enough to be asleep for at least a few more hours, and that this single stray beam fell on his face directly, and _only_ on his face. 

It wasn’t all bad, though, because Cas was still asleep ( _no flippin’ light flickering over his eyes_ ) and Dean could lay on his side and just take in the sight. And it was grand. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up to such a gorgeous sight, he’d be damned if he woke Cas up trying to leave. He looked so peaceful, the furrowed brow and harsh expression entirely wiped off. There were no lines creasing, no troubled look heavy on his guise. Dean smothered an impulse to brush his fingers through the disheveled mess that was the dark hair on top of the white pillow, instead, he spent his time memorizing the sight in front of him. There was an unshaven shadow in his cheekbones, his full lips were slightly parted, and his chest was rising with the slow and steady breathing, clearly still in deep slumber.

Dean, against the yearning to stay put, followed his better judgment and moved further back against the wall, distancing himself from the sleeping angel next to him - if he didn’t want to wake him, he should stop mouth-breathing all over him.

The bed was cozy and warm and Dean wouldn’t want to leave it, but the blankets over him were getting him warm and flustered - or maybe it had something to do with the all but naked body beside him - so he pulled them down to his waist, just over the hem of his boxers. Of course, this meant he also pulled the blanket down off Cas's shoulders, revealing more skin than Dean’s half-hard morning wood could defy, immediately reacting to the image. Yet another reason for Dean to stay away from Cas, the last thing he wanted was for the angel to wake up and reach out for him, because if just the look of him, placid and serene, was doing this to him, _who knew what a fucking touch would cause._

_And...Now he couldn’t stop thinking of Cas waking up, and touching him softly stroking along this lines of his stomach and- That’s it, he would just have to go take a shower and get out of this bed, this was too dangerous, and he might end up doing something he regretted, something that would make him a huge pervert, and result in Cas punching him (rightfully so), or worse, reject him again, and he should just get out._

He was about to climb carefully over Cas when something caught his attention. Drooped around his neck, falling over the linen of the bed, a silver chain ending in a crystal-like pendant. Dean recalled Cas telling him it was an amulet, that it had something to do with his _grace_ (whatever that meant). It was pretty. 

Dean tossed a leg over Cas, hovering over his hips for a moment that seemed way too long, and managed to stand on the other side of him on the floor, bringing his other leg over too, hoping to whatever Gods were out there, that he wouldn’t wake Cas up. 

It seemed that luck was on his side, either that or Cas was an extremely heavy sleeper, which was what he was going for, _because if Cas were to wake up right this second, he would have a very (un)fortunate sight of little, scratch that, big Dean, staring him right in the face._

 _Yep, shower, now._ He was about to turn around and head for the bathroom, but something held him back. 

He didn’t quite know what drove his sorry ass to do this, but he figured such a stunning amulet should rest in its rightful place, over Cas’s chest. So, that’s exactly what he did. He picked it up, and warily placed it over Cas’s heart, the tips of his fingers brushing against the skin accidentally. A bright, shining blue light scared him off - _he could swear it was coming off of Cas, or, better yet, off of the amulet -_ but as sudden as it shone, it was gone again, and it left Dean staring at Cas’s chest, dumbfounded. Cas’s brow furrowed and he let out a grunt (which didn’t help Dean’s downstairs situation), and he realized Cas was about to wake up. He turned his back and ran into the bathroom closing the door behind him, by the skin of his teeth. 

Dean took his sweet time taking a shower, brushing his teeth, and when he thought it was an okay time to wake up the angel, he snuck out of the bathroom just to place a Zepplin tape in the Stereo in the kitchen. 

He went back into the bathroom as the first accords to _Whole lotta love_ filled the room. Dean had taken his boxers and jeans from the duffel into the bathroom, in a flash of wits. He was in a particularly good mood, all things considered, and let the music sway him into a half-leg-tappin, half-dancing in the bathroom stupor while he shaved and got himself ready for the day. 

Making his way out of the bathroom, he tried to nonchalantly smile as a somewhat grumpy Cas yawned sitting on the bed. _Don’t fucking stare. Just go do something. Breakfast, yes that’s good._

“You ever had homemade pancakes before?” Dean asked, he knew the angel probably hadn’t, and there went another check on his list of firsts he could give Cas. 

“Is it not a little early for cake?” a somewhat scared look from Cas had him, honest to god, laughing. “What are you laughing at? Pan-cakes, it’s in the name, Dean.” 

“No, no you’re right.” It did make sense, but Cas sounding it out did nothing for his laughing fit to stop. “I guess, but you’re going to love it, boy scout’s promise!” 

“I can’t see how that promise means anything.” 

“It’s just an expression Cas, you’re gonna like it, just take my word for it.” He made his way into the kitchen to look at a depressingly scarce pantry.

“Alright,” the angel didn’t seem up for more questions. 

There was nothing in the cupboards but milk, which was probably out of its due date. He decided he might as well go to the store and grab some supplied for the next few days. For the time being, he would like it if he could keep Cas grounded, at least until he could get the 411 on the situation. Of course, he knew Cas would argue with that, so he wouldn’t even tell him until it was necessary.

The round trip to the nearest grocery store took him about an hour - most of which he spent combing through each and every corridor. Dean wasn’t the ‘make a list and grab the items’ type, at the store, he liked to take his time, he didn’t know what snacks would speak to him as he passed by, he liked giving them all his undivided attention. And he liked to do it alone. Sam was a list guy, and every time they went to the store together, _it was like a freaking tag team in and out, high-efficiency job._

When he was content with the items in his cart, he made his way back to the lodge. 

Cas sat on the couch of the cabin. He looked like he’d gotten comfortable. One leg stretched over the couch, and the other one dropped on the floor, he was half sitting, half laying down, an open book, laying on his chest, as if he had been reading it when Dean walked in.

Dean made his way over to the couch where Cas sat on. A quick glance at the book and he realized Cas was reading his (very worn out) copy of Cat’s Cradle, by Vonnegut. He felt his cheeks pink up and couldn’t help but smile a little. 

“You’re enjoying that book?”

Dean started putting the groceries away and taking out what he needed for pancakes - _eggs, milk, flour, sugar -_ he recited it in his head. 

“I am. Even though the title is quite misleading, this has nothing to do with felines.” 

Dean laughed and started cooking away. Cas kept reading. Dean looked at him, over his shoulder, and as glad as he was that Cas was staying put and not going out into the possible hunting grounds of the newly weaponized hunters of the City, he wasn’t sure it was because of _that_ or if he was just hanging around because he thought Dean would crumble into a puddle on the ground if left alone. The last three times he had been alone, he had, in fact, been a very crumble-y, puddle-y mess of a man, so he didn’t blame him, and even though he was pretty sure he was fine and didn’t _need_ a guardian angel over his, quite literal, shoulder, he didn’t actually _mind it,_ keeping him safe, under his gaze was an obvious plus.

They ate the pancakes, the music from the stereo still bouncing off the walls, they didn’t need to talk other than the occasional pleased sigh coming from Cas. Dean was happy he was enjoying his pancakes and took note to do it more often. 

In the afternoon Dean decided they’d watch a movie, one of his favorites obviously, because if Cas had seen zero movies, then he would make it his personal mission that he only see great movies.

They started with _The Good, the Bad and the Ugly,_ and were making their way through Clint Eastwood’s classics, and were midway through, Dean didn’t even know which one already (Cas insisted he wanted to watch 'all of them’, though Dean had spent most of them actually napping since he’d gotten a pretty late night) when things got _heated._

Dean woke to a very explicit, very _long_ sex scene. He cleared his throat, shifting on the couch. His feet were propped over Cas’s lap, and he was, apparently, mesmerized by the whole thing. While a normal person who catches an uncomfortable sex scene averts their eyes, tried their best to appear unfazed, Cas was glued to the screen, head tilt and all. Dean did his best to do the same as if it didn't make him so _fidgety._

They moaned on-screen and that’s when he felt it, Cas’s hand gripping his ankle, over the blanket. _Not good._ His blood pooled below the belt. He’d been half-hard already since he woke to _that_ scene, the moaning always got him - _men, women, whatever, sex noises were his biggest downfall_ \- and now Cas had a _freaking gorilla grip_ on his ankle, and his mind drifted to how he would _adore_ the exact same feeling further up - and he was gone, past the point of no return. He placed his wrists and hands, inconspicuously, over his groin but as soon as he felt the weight over it, the noises still going in the movie, Cas’s hand on him, just the thin fabric of his jeans in between, and everything it took from him not to slide down until his hand was gripping his thigh and then his-- _Fuck, shit, nope can’t stay here._

“I’m just going to uhm, take a shower” His words tripped over each other, this was not casual at all, but Cas seemed confused enough for Dean to think he didn’t get what was happening, which was a positive. “Just, uh- feeling cold, uh hot shower.” Now he’d completely stopped making any sort of sense altogether.

He had other things to worry about at the moment. He needed to stop this. He ran into the bedroom, and then into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. 

He just had to take a shower - _a cold shower -_ to make it go away. Cas was everywhere, and every time he touched Dean, even in the most innocent of ways, his whole body would try to do _a fucking flip_ and the fact that he hadn’t had sex in _a very long time_ was not helping. How long had it been? Dean could hardly remember. There was that bar girl, _oh but that one fell through, and before that?_ He turned the water on, counting on his hands how many weeks had been, and gasped in shock when he was already counting months. This wasn’t normal for him, going so long without some sort of sexual contact - be it a one night stand with some bimbo, or a sloppy handjob from some dude who made him, or the occasional make-out session with some deeply closeted hunter back in the city, who’d swear him to secrecy afterwords. And in the past 3 months, _apparently,_ there had been none of that - _zero, zilch, nada - except for the godforsaken night he’d jumped Cas’s bones and gotten rejected, but that was a night he was determined to forget._

He sighed heavily, hopping under the shower. _Yes, that night was to stay stashed away where he put it, way deep down._ Even if every time Cas brushed against him, his skin was set afire and the night flashed across his brain, like muscle memory of those drunken touches, how Castiel’s lips felt against his, and how he melted into him for a few seconds, how his fingers felt like on his back and _\- the cold water was not helping._

He looked down as the water trickled down his body, it wasn’t going down, at all. If anything, Dean was sure it was _harder._ It throbbed with the blood pumping through it, begging for Dean to just deal with it. But he couldn’t. 

Could he?

With Cas right in the next room, _no he really, really shouldn’t._ Dean’s body started moving mechanically, it was out of his control now, it was all hormones and hyperactive libido taking over. He stood perfectly still under the shower, switched the cold water for hot water, and braced his forearm in the tiled wall ahead of him. He let the water fall down the back of his neck, and let his hand get to what he wanted, what he couldn’t help anymore, there was no point. 

He gripped himself tight, mimicking the way Cas had held onto his ankle, and a violent shiver went up his spine, pleasure radiating from the tip of his fingers, moving slowly and methodically now, up his entire back and down his legs. He soaped up and kept stroking, abdominal muscles jumping in anticipation, he closed his eyes and his hand was not his anymore, it was Cas’s and it slid up and down his length, Dean let out short and breathless moans that echoed in the bathroom. He licked his lips, hungrily, wanting more, and his mind indulged, images of Cas burned into the back of his eyelids - Cas in his boxers, Cas still sleeping, Cas laughing, Cas’s lips on his and he was back on that night, except this time they’d get further. A sharp moan fell out of his mouth, probably louder than it should be, and he was close, _so fucking close,_ his entire body ached in the few seconds he had left. 

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice called out and Dean was completely lost in between reality and his imagination, there was no knowing where it’d come from, but it was enough to push him over the edge, a hot flash, violent and igniting turned blood into a million degrees and he came, like a tidal wave hitting him from every angle, and with every finishing stroke, becoming painfully aware of how _loud_ he’d just been. The aftershock left him in damn near shambles and he took the showerhead, and a handful of soap to clean off, the relief clearly not overshadowing the pounding of his heart at the thought that _Cas had totally just heard that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12 was a bit of a different chapter to write, and I loved every second of it! After all the fast-paced writing I figured the boys deserved some downtime, and not to mention that luckily Cas is totally okay. Did you enjoy this chapter or do you prefer the ones with more going on, or both? Please let me know in the comments, you guys are what's keeping this fic going :) So thank you from the bottom of my heart to all the lovely readers of this fic, whether you comment every week or just show up to read, I'm just very grateful that you enjoy my little old fic. 
> 
> If you have any burning questions about this fic check out my [Tumblr](https://totallyxawesome.tumblr.com/)  
> This is also where I have been posting previews of the new chapters every Sunday, and I'm writing some short prompts so feel free to submit ideas! 
> 
> The biggest thank you to my lovely beta, Fred, my funniest friend and an amazing writer who never fails to help me out with these chapters. Go show her some love on [her Tumblr](https://https://deanqueerchester.tumblr.com//).

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this fic has been sitting in my head for five long years now. I never wrote it because I didn't know where I wanted the story to go and then I kind of stopped writing altogether. However, the main idea for the story never left my head and when I started watching Supernatural again I couldn't help but give it my best shot. So bear with me as I dust off my writing 'skills' and try my best to share this story with you. I can only hope you'll like it but please let me know in the comments!


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